


Having The Power To Choose

by Kateis_Cakeis



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Coming Out, Grief/Mourning, Identity Issues, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Howard Stark - Freeform, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Recovery, Red Room (Marvel), Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-29 14:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16265933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateis_Cakeis/pseuds/Kateis_Cakeis
Summary: Steve survived the war, but at what cost? He'd lost a lot. In the horrors of it all, he'd come back a different man. And he'd come back without his best friend at his side.And while he'd been given a chance at a truly good life, with powerful people at his side, he gave it all away to become what he couldn't escape.Someone good at being strong, fast... Good at following orders, and giving them.Someone who would make a fantastic spy, for the other side. He'd become the perfect candidate to be captured, all they would need was a well placed Winter Soldier.Who he would become after that, and how he could change the Soldier... that was all up in the air.





	1. Grief Doesn't Stop At Death

The cold flowed around him, chilling his bones. Making him feel nothing. Nothing but the _pain_. He stared out, watching the snowy mountains roll on by, until the passing scenery slowed and slowed, coming to a stop where he could see nothing but the blank whiteness of the environment. It would have been so easy to step out. To fall.

Instead, he stayed curled up, embracing his knees as he tried to stop the tears from falling. A shield lay discarded on the ground, along with a cowl. A soldier was dead in the corner. The metal had been torn off the side. There was nothing but the cold hard ground. The sorrow had quickly overtaken him, and he had no idea how much time had passed when footsteps broke him away from the emptiness.

“Rogers… Steve… Jesus Christ,” a voice said, a person, someone. Steve struggled to realise who it was, until they crouched down by him. Dugan.

“I…”

“Jim, Monty, get him up…”

Jim and Monty rushed to his side and pulled Steve up, even though his limbs were unwilling, and he was wobbly on his feet. Steve tried to stand, tried to muddle through the cloud in his head. But he couldn’t. There was a strong feeling of grief within him, something he couldn’t control even if he wanted to.

“Captain… you have to be strong,” Dugan said. “Gabe and Dernier are with Zola right now. We got him.”

Steve shuddered. “But, but, we lost… I…”

Jim slung Steve’s arm around his shoulder, Monty did the same. The two nodded to Dugan, who stepped out of the way, allowing them to get Steve off the train. He was dumped in a Jeep, which both Jim and Monty hopped into. While Monty started the car, Jim kept an eye on Steve at all times. Meanwhile, Dugan got into the driver’s seat of another Jeep, with Gabe, Dernier and Zola.

Before Steve knew it, Colonel Phillips was demanding to know what happened to ‘the Sergeant’. They sat in an office and Steve had little idea how he got there. Like he had just zoned out for a few hours, or however long it had been. But, even as he came back to himself, Steve couldn’t say anything about the incident. So, instead of Phillips demanding Steve to speak about what happened, he turned the papers around and handed Steve a pen. He could do this, he could write it down. But talking about it aloud only made it real. He wasn’t ready for it to be real.

Even thinking of Bucky’s body getting smaller as he fell traumatised him enough. Remembering anymore than that hurt more than he could say. In front of Phillips, he’d stay strong, he was not going to cry here. He couldn’t cry here. He wrote down, in detail, what happened. He wished he could be vague but that wouldn’t cut it for a report.

Once he was done, and tears were pricking at his eyes, Phillips dismissed him and told him to go have a drink, or several. Steve wanted his entire world to fade away, so he could forget. So, he would never have to remember what happened ever again.

When he found the bar where everything started, the beginning of the end, Steve merely shrugged off that it got bombed. Really, it was the perfect metaphor. The place where Bucky decided to follow Steve back into the fight, once bright and light, was now dark and empty, destroyed and a mess. Like how Steve was inside, dealing with the loss.

He found a bottle of… something. It was a little dusty, but Steve didn’t care what it was, it still being in one piece was good enough for him. Once he found a glass, he sat at a table – one of the few still standing – and poured the alcohol out. He drank and drank, until the bottle was almost empty, and Steve was nowhere near drunk. He’d finally proved the theory that the serum couldn’t get him drunk.

Which was great.

Peggy came, trying to tell Steve that it wasn’t his fault. But he knew different. He was _Captain America_. He should have been able to save Bucky, he should have been able to reach out and grab him and save him somehow. _Somehow_.

\--

“What about the plane?” Peggy asked, her voice frantic.

“That’s a little bit tougher to explain,” Steve shouted over the noise of fast travelling air. He glanced over the overcomplicated controls.

“Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site.”

“There’s not going to be a safe landing. But I can try and force it down.”

Steve knew what he had to do. And he was terrified by the idea, but he was also calmed by it. There was something peaceful in dying on your own accord. Something beautiful in it. Even if it was a terrible sacrifice. But he had done what he set out to do. HYDRA was gone.

“I’ll get Howard on the line, he’ll know what to do.” Peggy’s voice increased in panic.

“There’s not enough time. This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water.”

“Please, don’t do this. We have time. We can work it out.”

Steve considered that for a fraction of a second. He sighed and whispered, “he wouldn’t want me to die...” He looked back over the controls, managing to put the pieces together. Maybe he could control it. “Get Howard on the line.”

“On it.” A beat of silence. “Howard?”

“What do you need?” Howard’s voice crackled through the radio.

“Can you help Steve control a plane?”

The was a brief noise of scattering papers. “You’re on the plane… with the bombs?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said, glancing over the screen showing the sheer number of bombs.

“You… can’t land that thing safely. One jostled landing would set that thing alight.”

Steve knew Howard was right, he himself had worked it out, and Howard was a genius. Now that Steve was _really_ looking, the control panel was damaged. There was no chance, especially considering the plane was on some kind of automatic flight pattern. He took a breath, steadying his voice. “What are my chances of survival Howard?”

“Uhh. Small? Are you over ice?” he asked, his voice wavering.

Steve’s hands shook on the controls. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

“We had a theory that you could be frozen and once thawed out, you would still be alive… Are you ready to test that?”

“Sure.”

“Steve,” Peggy murmured. “ _Please_. No.”

“Peggy, there’s a chance I’ll survive this.” Steve glanced to the map and began guiding the plane downwards. “My coordinates are… 86°13'32.4"N 30°26'16.3". Got that?”

“Got it,” Howard’s voice crackled through.

Steve forced the plane down. It was going so fast. And as far as he knew, these could have been his last moments. “Hey, Howard, Peggy?”

“Yeah?” they said at once.

“We should go dancing, after all this.”

“Sounds good, Steve,” Howard said. “We can certainly get you a dance partner. Perhaps… Peggy will take the first dance.”

“I’d like that. Peggy?” Steve murmured, watching carefully as the ice got closer.

“That sounds perfect… Let’s say, a week, next Saturday. At the Stork Club.”

“Yes! Love that place,” Howard shouted, giving out a small, nervous laugh.

“Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood, Steve?”

“I’ll be there… I won’t be late, you hear?” He smiled. The ice was almost there. “Dancing is going to be–”

The line went dead. White noise filled the air instead. While Peggy cried, not sure that there was any way to survive the impact, Howard jumped into action. The sound of papers falling echoed through and scratching was heard.

“We’ll find him,” Howard said.

Peggy wiped tears from her eyes. “I hope you’re right.”

\--

Steve opened his eyes. Which was, a weird concept for death. He was lying on something soft. And natural light was streaming into the room. He bolted up, looking all around. He was on a rickety sort of bed and flowers sat at his bedside table, they were beginning to wilt. He glanced down and found himself wearing a soft cotton shirt and loose pants. Comfortable and practical, for a patient.

The room had the typical slight green to the walls, with tiles at the top and bottom, like a real good hospital. So, he had been treated then. Treated for whatever the ice had done to him. The serum was like a goddamn blessing, and a curse. If he could survive ploughing a plane into ice, what else could he survive?

It was at that moment that a nurse walked into the room, glancing at her watch, only to startle at seeing Steve awake. “Oh! Captain Rogers… please, lie back down.”

She spoke English, that was good. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a recovery room in the New York SSR base.”

He nodded, that made sense. “What’s the date?”

The nurse scribbled something on her clipboard and approached Steve. “It’s the 10th of May.” She smiled. “We won the war over Nazi Germany.”

Steve shot to his feet. “We did?”

“Yes. We’re still battling Japan but, the war is over for the most part.”

He ran a hand through his hair before the nurse made him sit back down. She began checking his vitals, and Steve tried to keep as calm as possible. One minute, it was winter and the next? It was spring, and they had won against Germany. A lot had changed in such a short space of time. If he was being honest, he was mostly glad for the fact that he still lived than much else.

“I’ll call Agent Carter,” the nurse said, as she recorded down Steve’s observations.

Steve fiddled with the sheets. “Is Howard around?”

“Yes.”

“Can you get him here too?”

“Of course.”

With the nurse gone, Steve was left to ponder on his own. He was lost in his own head over how much time he had lost. And, a strange thought came to mind. If he hadn’t given out his coordinates, would they have ever found him? Or would he have been trapped in ice forever, waiting for the day someone would find him? Maybe that way, he would have been far further in the future. It was hardly worth thinking about.

He lay back and let his eyes close, trying to relax giving the situation. Until…

“Steve!” Peggy exclaimed, darting to his bedside.

Steve opened his eyes and stood, allowing Peggy to wrap her arms around him. She held on tight, patting his back before withdrawing back.

“Hey,” he said.

“I’m glad you’re awake… We thought–” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter now, you’re _here_ and _alive_.”

“I definitely am.” Steve glanced out the window, seeing the slightly more bustling world. “What happened, to me?”

Howard strolled into the room. “I spent a month and a half looking for you. Believe it or not, you were frozen in ice and we thawed you out. It worked.”

“Your theory was right.” Steve stepped away from Peggy and approached Howard. “Didn’t know you were good at biology.”

“Well, yeah… I’m happy you’re here.” Howard shuffled his feet, like he was nervous.

Steve hugged him, smiling brightly. “Thank you.”

After that, Peggy and Howard brought two chairs into the room and sat, while Steve was on the bed. They talked through what had happened since Steve had been frozen. Apparently, _a lot_ had happened. And something within Steve made him glad he took the plane down. Missing what had gone on allowed him to take a different stance on it all. Being in the fight didn’t allow for that. Now he could take a step back and see both sides. See what everyone lost. But, if taking the plane down had taught him anything, it was that fighting wasn’t worth it when so many lives were lost in the process. Justice was fine… but war was not. He wanted to know what living really felt like, since he would never have to worry about illness ever again.

“You’re _not_ coming back to the SSR?” Peggy asked, mouth agape. Howard stayed still next to her, his eyes wide.

Steve looked out the window again. “Not now… If I can even escape the army?”

Peggy straightened up. “I’ll see what I can do. You _might_ have to be kept under supervision.” She frowned. “You _do_ deserve rest, after what happened.”

He glanced to the ground. “Yeah…”

“Well,” Howard began, clapping his hands together, “I have to go back to work. Rest well, Steve.”

“Thanks, Howard.”

Once Howard had left, Peggy got up and locked the door. She sat back down, while Steve gave her a strange look. Why would she ever need to lock the door? They had talked for hours, about things that were classified. It didn’t matter, they were in an SSR building. What could possibly be going on?

“I…” Peggy tried to start a sentence yet failed. “You don’t want to go dancing with me.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You wanted to die on the Valkyrie. You needed persuading. You weren’t going to give us your coordinates, at first.”

“Peggy–”

“And I believe it’s because you wanted to see Barnes again.”

Steve’s breath got caught in his throat. Well, she definitely knew him, that was for sure. “Yeah…”

“Why didn’t you go through with it?”

“He wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Peggy frowned. “Did you love him?”

Steve jerked backwards, scrambling away and further onto the bed. “No. Why would you think that?”

Peggy stared at him. “I won’t do anything, Steve. Besides, your reaction is an answer enough.”

Steve wrapped his arms around himself. “How will I live without him?”

“You’ll get through it. You’re strong like that.”

Steve was not entirely convinced.

\--

Steve, of course, had to be supervised and had to go to the SSR facility once a month to get a routine check. With the war still on with Japan, there were plenty of worries over what would happen. It wasn’t over yet. But at least they no longer had to worry about Nazi Germany, or HYDRA.

Over the coming months, Steve picked up art again, and with the money he had from the war, he was able to live comfortably in his old manky apartment. He painted for whoever needed a new sign or wanted a Captain America artwork. And the latter certainly brought in most of his money. In fact, any commissions he got in the mail were from old rich people who weren’t involved in the war. They often wanted the image of patriotism to paint pictures of patriotism.

One day, a letter slid through the door, a request. Some old guy wanted Steve to paint a picture of a silhouette standing on bullets. They wanted darkness to surround them, the figure had to have some sort of blood dripping from their hands. But the chest of the person had to be bright, like their soul was still pure even with all the death and killing. Steve scoffed as he threw the letter down, making his way over to a table, where his sketchbook lay. No one who survived was still pure.

Nothing was good when you fought in war. Your soul was more likely to get corrupted with all you saw, instead of staying bright. Steve knew that now. But he didn’t regret joining the war. If he didn’t, Bucky would have died much sooner than he did. Steve gave him more time.

As he pulled out his pencils to begin sketching the painting, tears slipped from his eyes. The wounds were so fresh, how could he survive like this? Sure, he got to be an artist now, he was gaining a lot of money, but nothing could ever fill the void that had opened in his heart. Nothing could make him stop missing Bucky. And he knew being strong was pointless, especially when he was alone.

He let himself cry. Until he brushed the tears away and got to work. He could swamp himself in it. He could surround himself in it all and try to _forget_. Not that he ever could, but he could certainly try.

\--

Once the war was officially over, Steve felt he could breathe again. He could move on now that the army wouldn’t drag him back into a hell. Although, he was distraught over what his country did to innocent people. The bombs never should have happened. But Steve wasn’t naïve, he knew something awful was bound to happen when terrible weapons were being created. And he knew fine well that Howard had been involved with the creation of the monstrosities. It wasn’t good, and it shouldn’t have happened. There were other ways.

Because of his work over the months, the end of the war only brought more work for Steve. And by November, he was famous for something other than being Captain America. Not that many people believed he was _actually_ enhanced. They believed that when they needed to, in the war, but people thought it was more of a myth now than anything else. Besides, if he was enhanced, people thought the army never would have let him go. (If only they knew he was on a time limit. The SSR was calling for him).

He had enough money to leave his old apartment (it had too many memories of Bucky after all). His new house was an upmarket apartment, which had a living room as big as his old home. It was certainly a different kind of life, but being a famous painter was certainly a money earner. He changed his looks too, growing out his hair a bit and growing a beard.

Steve also donated as much money as he could to charities. He often gained more money than he could give away, however. So, as the months went on by he set up ways to funnel money directly into charities, while putting the rest of it into savings (with advice from Howard on how to best protect his money). He wanted to make sure the little people (the kind of category Steve used to fall into) were getting what they needed. And as someone who had money, he could do that.

It was June when Steve had an unexpected visitor at the door. And he was overjoyed when he answered it. Finding, Dum Dum, Monty, Jim, Gabe and Dernier. He broke out in a smile as they grinned back. Stepping aside, he let them in, and soon noticed they had alcohol in their arms. Steve tsked but showed them to the bar he had in the open plan space that was his apartment. (It was so large that it had spiral stairs that led to two bedrooms and a second bathroom).

Dum Dum whistled. “Damn, Rogers, you got it good.”

Steve glanced over the space he had. There were too many large windows and not enough wall space. The furniture was too nice (Howard had picked it out for him, because according to him, Steve had no taste). But, in saying that, it was homely. There were sketches littering the place, little homely things Steve picked up from places. Any small thing he bought brought a sense of home to the place. He had sketches of Peggy, Howard, the Howlies hanging up on the wall. It was home enough.

“That’s what I get for getting back into art when I came home. People wanted a Captain America piece,” he said.

Jim let out a laugh. “Is that why you sign as Captain America as well as Steve Rogers?”

Steve groaned. “ _Yes_. It’s so annoying.”

Dernier was already pouring drinks, with the help of Monty. They glanced to Steve, shrugging, before picking out a sixth glass. Gabe, meanwhile, was busy eyeing the pictures Steve had hanging up.

“You draw all of us?” he asked, as Steve approached from behind.

“Yeah,” Steve said, digging his hands into his pockets and moving towards Gabe. They were a little way from the others. “I like to make this place feel homelier.”

“Why did you buy a place so… like this?” Gabe gestured vaguely.

“Because anything that’s dimmer, cosy or small makes me think of how it was. And how it was with…” Steve shook his head.

“You don’t have any pictures of him… because you can’t bear it, can you?”

“If I had pictures of him… I wouldn’t stop grieving, Gabe.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if I can move on. I’m trying.”

Gabe patted Steve on the shoulder. “He was your friend. There’s no moving on after… what happened.”

“Thank you… for saying that. Because Peggy is always on my case.”

“She worries about you. We all do. That’s why we showed up, because you never visit us.”

Steve frowned. “I try to. But… it reminds me… of what we lost.”

Gabe opened his mouth to say something else, when Monty came by to pass a glass of whiskey to them both. He smiled and nodded to the couches, where everyone else was relaxing back. They all had smiles on, already joking away.

“Come on, Steve. We didn’t come here for no reason,” Monty said, walking towards the others. Gabe and Steve followed, sitting down and letting sombreness float away.

They fell into easy and sarcastic conversation. As it turned out, Monty and Dernier were only briefly visiting America. Monty worked back in London, at the SSR base there. So, he was occasionally needed on missions that had him visiting the New York base for a month or two. But often enough, he stayed in London and shipped out to missions from there. While Dernier was working with the SSR to set up a base in France. It hadn’t gone ahead quite yet, but Peggy had assured him once SHIELD was fully off the ground, they would need bases around the world.

Dum Dum, Morita and Gabe on the other hand were all still involved with the SSR and worked in the New York base from time to time. Usually, they were on some mission or whatever, doing SSR things. Sometimes, they even recaptured Nazis that had fled to America from Germany. Too many had escaped, and it was up to forces around the world to make sure they paid.

“We broke open the whiskey on the way home,” Dum Dum said, laughing.

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and you drank all of it. Sometimes I wonder how you survive all the alcohol.”

“It’s called tolerance.”

Steve shook his head and took a sip of his drink, listening into his friends talking about whatever was relaxing and a welcome addition to his day. It distracted him from his grief too, and somehow, he managed to allow himself to forget. For a few hours of banter with his closest friends.

“So, Steve, you ever gonna join us again?” Dum Dum asked.

Steve knew he couldn’t escape the life that had been chosen for him by the serum. He could be a rich painter all he liked, until the SSR or whoever else wanted him back. He was barely getting away with it now. Despite his amassed amount of money. He relied on Howard protecting him and giving him contacts to ensure the government couldn’t come back for him. All in all, he would hold it off for as long as possible.

“Eventually. When this lifestyle gets boring, I imagine.”

His friends nodded and murmured in agreement, all taking a swig of their drinks.

“Typical Rogers,” Jim said, downing his whiskey. They were all getting so drunk.

“Can’t stay out of the fight, can you?” Monty said, more as a statement than asking for confirmation.

Dernier rolled his eyes. “If he did that, I’d eat my casquette.”

Gabe frowned, staring at his drink. “ _He’d_ have your head if you really thought of re-joining the fray.”

Steve closed his eyes, feeling a violent wave of grief wash over him. “Well… he isn’t here to stop me, I guess.”

Realising what he had done, Gabe chugged his whiskey and immediately poured himself another glass, as did the rest of his friends. Steve stared at the ground as they did this, trying to wrangle back his grief, to enjoy himself. But he didn’t manage to. Not for the rest of the night. His friends patted him or hugged him on the way out, taking whatever remnants of alcohol they had left.

And Steve was alone again. 1946 was, so far, a good year for him. But he needed friends who weren’t involved in secret organisations. So, he picked up his phone and gave Howard a call.

He was painted as a rich, famous artist who lived a good lifestyle and always had women pining after him. He decided that it was probably best to get firmly settled into the lifestyle.

“Hey, Howard?” he said as Howard picked up the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Any chance there’s some rich and fancy party going on soon?”

“Oh, pal, am I glad to hear you’re ready to step out of your lair.”

“I thought it was time to embrace the lifestyle.”

“You’re going to love it. Or hate it. It could go either way with you.” Steve could practically hear Howard smiling on the other side.

In total, there were six parties happening in June and Howard could get Steve invited to them all. Not only could he make powerful friends, he could gain more work and become better respected as the rich painter he was. In fact, his whole story made for interesting talk. Especially for the rich. Howard seemed overjoyed at the prospect that Steve was going to accompany him to these parties. He was already planning what they were going to wear, so they didn’t clash in their colours.

When the first party came around, Howard made sure that Steve was dressed in a dapper suit before letting him in the fancy car. All black sleek and beautiful. His driver, Jarvis, explained that the party was one of great importance as many other artists were going to be there. It would make for a good opportunity for Steve. Truth be told, Steve was entirely sure why he was doing this, but he was.

“Why did you and Peggy never pick up from where you left off?” Howard asked as the car rolled forward. They had twenty minutes to burn before they would get to the party.

Steve shifted in his seat. “Too much had happened.”

“Like what?”

“Between me diving the plane into the ocean and other things.”

Howard nodded. “Your friendship with Barnes.”

Steve looked to Howard, tilting his head. “I don’t see how that relates?”

“Steve, I’m a genius inventor who knows a thing or two about people.” Howard fiddled with his jacket. “And I _know_.” He looked to Steve, narrowing his eyes. “Acdc, bibi?”

Steve sighed. Howard _was_ clever and seemed to have a much different life to what Steve had first imagined. Their time in London during the war had definitely educated the both of them, it seemed. Polari, a language commonly used among men like him in Britain. A secret that Steve managed to pick up bits and pieces of by being in the right places.

“Yes,” he said.

“Me too.” Howard nudged him. “You see? I _know_.”

Steve smiled, feeling a lot more comfortable. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Ah, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Once at the party, Howard had no trouble dragging Steve about and getting him to meet everyone who could be beneficial for his career. From investors, to other famous engineers and inventors, to artists, sculptors and writers. The party had it all. Steve found himself going to the bar multiple times, having long conversations with people there, as they found it weird when he didn’t have a drink in his hand. (And although most recognised him as both Steve Rogers _and_ Captain America, they still didn’t believe the myths of him being enhanced). Steadily throughout the night, Steve pretended to get drunk, while, on the other hand, Howard was getting to the point where he was _too_ drunk.

At one point, he had to drag Howard off a woman he was being too friendly with. The host of the party suggested to Steve that a spare room would be ideal in calming Howard down. So, the two ended up in a spare bedroom. Steve helped Howard scramble onto the bad, laughing at how tired he had gotten. While Howard propped himself up on his elbow, Steve leant on a dresser, rolling his eyes. After a few minutes, Steve thought Howard had fallen asleep, until he opened his eyes, a thoughtful expression on.

“How did you learn Polari?” Howard asked.

“We _were_ in London quite a bit.” Steve shrugged. “I only know some of it and… Monty knew about it.”

“Monty knows about you?”

“Yeah. He often spied out people, you know?”

Howard grinned, mischievously. “Here I was thinking you were still a virgin.”

Steve smirked, folding his arms. “I’m not as innocent as everyone likes to believe.”

“No, you aren’t.” Howard lay back, placing his hands behind his head. “You know…” he began, his words slurring slightly, “you’re always the most attractive person in the room.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not true.”

“Have you looked in a mirror recently? You’re…” Howard sat up, hurriedly. “Some people are hot, right? But you’re on a different level of hot. And that _beard_.”

Steve chuckled lightly. “Uh-huh.”

“Easily the hottest guy in any room.”

“I think it’s time we got you home.”

“Aw,” Howard sounded as Steve manhandled him off the bed. “You met some good people tonight.”

“That I did.”

With help from Jarvis, Steve got Howard safely home. It had been a bit of a weird night. Howard stuck more to Steve than Steve had expected from a man so equipped to dealing with parties. But then, their conversation in the bedroom definitely brought some things to light. Howard very clearly found Steve attractive. It was strange, in a way, for Howard to like him. It made Steve feel like something was there. Maybe.

Anyhow, it wasn’t like Steve was ready for any of that.

\--

As the next year came around, Steve’s art was ending up in museums across world. Galleries were calling for his art, instead of just people. The life of a famous artist overtook him. He had interviews all the time, he was visiting places he’d never been and countries he’d never thought of going to. And as the months and days went on, people slowly forgot about Captain America. There was only Steve Rogers, artist, close friend of Howard Stark, once a war hero.

Even the war hero bit was muted by his art.

And when Howard and Peggy and the crew went off to Los Angeles, Steve kept up with them via letters. Making sure whatever dangerous situations the SSR was sending them into wasn’t affecting them too much. More to the point, if he got a reply, he knew they would be okay. To a certain degree, he didn’t have to worry about them. Steve’s life was too hectic for worry.

If he wasn’t painting, he was at a gallery for an exhibition of his. If he wasn’t doing that, he was abroad to support some of his artist friends. Things were really going great for him. 1947 was a momentous year for Steve. He resented the beginning of a war with the Soviets, but he was having such a good time, he ignored that. Especially when his friends were around. Whenever they could, Dum Dum, Jim, Monty, Gabe and Dernier would take time off to go and see Steve. If Steve ended up in the UK, Monty would meet up with him. If it was France, Dernier had a quick catch up. The others tended to go with Steve if he was travelling to somewhere like Spain. Dum Dum seemed to like Spain, a lot.

It was great, having money. He could make a lot difference with it, instead of using his fists to solve a problem. Charities were always grateful when Steve sent a few thousand their way. That was the benefit of being rich, being able to help. Because when money ruled the world, only money could make a difference to those who weren’t lucky enough to have it.

Soon enough, however, a new year came along. 1948. Whenever a new year began, Steve went into a funk for a few months. Sure, it could be the best year of his life, but it would always start poorly. At the beginning of January, his work ethic would slow, so much so that by the end of January, he stopped working. All throughout February, he wouldn’t work, he would barely sleep, and he would eat so little that he fainted multiple times a week.

Something ’46, ’47 and ’48 all had in common was this process.

Steve sat in his apartment, several whiskey bottles were lain out before him. He slumped in his couch and downed the whiskey bottle he was currently drinking from. As his thoughts about the time of year slipped, he threw the bottle across the room, watching as it shattered into pieces against the wall. He was numb from his thoughts. He soon broke out the next bottle, only to down it. He repeated this process until he had downed twenty-five of them and _still_ felt not even a little bit of drunkenness. He could never forget like the others could, he could never stop remembering what happened. Every day of his life.

Three years did nothing for the pain.

The lock in his door scratched. It scratched for a little while. It wasn’t a key, more a lockpick. Steve sighed, he knew who was back, in time to see him at his worst. He would feel happier if he wasn’t in a state. The place was a mess of empty bottles and dirty plates. Steve himself was a mess. He didn’t look after himself in this period, and he was about to be told off.

The door swung open, the clicking of heels confirmed his suspicions.

“Oh… Steve,” Peggy murmured, looking over the mess.

Steve let out a hysterical laugh. “If I drink enough while really tired, I feel _something_. Being this tired lets me feel drunk.” His head fell back against the couch, like he was unable to control it anymore. “But… it never makes me forget.”

Peggy’s eyes were soft with worry. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Oh… about week ago?” He laughed again. “Do you know what’s the worst thing? I never found out the day he died. I know it was around this time…”

“It was the 15th of February.”

Steve swallowed thickly. Somehow that information made all the difference. “That’s good to know. What’s the date?”

“The 14th… of February.”

“I’ll sleep tomorrow.”

“Steve…”

“We never would have worked… you know?” He smiled at her.

Peggy nodded. “I know… You were grieving… too much.”

He smiled more, like his tiredness was truly controlling him. It was halfway to hysterical and mostly depressive. “You and Daniel have a good thing. Hold on to everyday you have with him. You never know, in your line of work, when the last day might be. It could be… when you least expect it, when you have no control over what happens.”

“Yeah,” she said faintly, frowning. “Steve, please sleep.”

“I’ll sleep after the anniversary of his… death.” He lit up in a smile, glancing to a half-done canvas at the other end of his room. It was a portrait of one of Howard’s friends. A fine women that lit up the room with a dress and a smile. “Then I’ll get back to work.”

“You should come work with SSR. Your skills would be greatly appreciated. And then… you would have a purpose.”

“Maybe one day… not yet.”

Peggy’s mouth twisted. “Steve, it’s been three years! How many more times will you go AWOL this time of year?! You have a life now, don’t waste it!”

Steve shot to his feet, his tiredness quickly leaving him as anger took over. “Three years is not enough time! We never found his _body_! He’s still missing according to his records. And… and I never got to say goodbye! I’m allowed the time around his death to try and forget, to remember what it was like before the war! Peggy… I lost the man I _loved_. The man who filled my heart to the brim… And I never knew if he ever felt that for me. So, please, don’t start with that spiel again. I _lost_ him. I watched him fall to his death…” Steve collapsed back down, tears slipping from his eyes. “He was my everything… my entire life…”

“Steve… I’m so sorry.” Peggy moved towards the couch, sitting at the opposite end. “Would it help to talk about it?”

He shrugged. “No? He’s dead.”

“Steve, when was the last time you said his name?” Peggy’s voice was full of concern, it was loud and clear in her tone. Because she was right, he’d hadn’t said Bucky’s name out loud since he fell.

“1945.”

She frowned. “Say it.”

“Peggy, I _can’t_.”

“That’s your problem. You don’t want to move on.”

Steve wiped the tears that clung to his cheeks away. “I do… It just hurts…” He sucked in a breath, “so much. Feels like I’m dying when I think about it...”

Peggy placed her hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Say his name.”

Steve breathed in and out. In… and out. In. Out. “Bucky…” His eyes collapsed shut. “He’s gone, Peggy, he’s gone…” Steve shook as a sob bubbled up out of his throat. Then, the tears came and kept coming and Peggy rubbed Steve’s back, to help him through it. He hadn’t grieved like this in years. Hadn’t let himself cry this much over Bucky in a long time. Occasionally, it was easy to forget Bucky ever died. Like he was supposed to wake up and find Bucky admiring his art, saying he’ll be the best artist that ever was.

Well, it felt like that now. But being the best artist wasn’t worth it without Bucky being there, to tease him.

“He’s gone. But your memories of him will always be there. Always,” Peggy murmured, rocking Steve now, he was that distraught.

“I– miss– him…”

“I know, I know.”

Peggy stayed with him that night. Made sure she got Steve fed, watered and into bed. He slept surprisingly quickly, considering how long he had been awake for. By the time he woke up, Peggy was gone. He found a note at his bedside explaining that he was quite brave for managing to get through his loss while still maintaining the life he had. She also apologised for getting angry but mentioned that the offer will always be open for the SSR, and if he takes long enough, the offer would be open for SHIELD too.

\--

It took two years for Steve to get sick of the way his life was. The richness of it. His art sold for thousands upon thousands, everyone wanted something that was made by him. And now, it was less because he was Captain America and more because he was _Steve Rogers_. Famous painter, generous donator for many charities, bachelor. The latter often had women trying to seduce him at every turn.

Howard tried to remind him, that was how it was sometimes. You got sick of being rich, of always being in the spotlight. Steve, however, knew it wasn’t just that. Time was getting on and his grief was diminishing. He was ready now, to start a new chapter of his life, in 1950. A new decade, a new Steve as it were.

He stopped accepting art requests and slowly, people turned away from him and moved onto the next new artist. It was a new decade for art lovers too. He also donated most of his money to the charities he knew deserved it, while keeping enough that if everything went wrong, he would be comfortable and wouldn’t have to worry about expenses. Finally, he sold his apartment and bought a smaller one, near to the SSR facility turned SHIELD facility.

This SHIELD facility was certainly different to the way the SSR one looked. The old wooden cosy desks and whatnot had been replaced with metal and glass. Howard had called it being modern, Steve just thought of it as boring and cold.

But SHIELD wasn’t exactly a warm organisation.

There were whispers of SHIELD making their base in DC their headquarters, but Peggy and Howard decided that for the time being, they would stay in New York. They didn’t want to be too close to the White House just yet. They also had a smaller, secret, base being built in some location no one knew of. But Peggy was overseeing it, and that was all the information Steve got. He would have to rebuild a certain trust. This life was certainly different to the rich one he’d been living.

And apparently, to SHIELD, rich people were untrustworthy. Especially those who had been widely known around the world. Anyone would know the face of Steve Rogers. So, with the help of Howard, Peggy ordered for Steve to get his army haircut back. No longer could his hair be decently long, and no longer could he ever have a single bit of stubble on his chin. He had quite liked having a beard over the years. But, he supposed that SHIELD had to have some amount of army regulations.

Steve was in his own little room, his own office. Most higher-level agents had them. He had a level 8 clearance, which basically allowed him to do almost anything. Of course, Peggy, Howard and Phillips knew it all, and Daniel knew at little less, sitting at level 9 rather than their 10. While the majority of agents were levels below Steve. Not many got the privilege of being an 8, at least, for the time being. Things would change as people were trusted more.

Howard sat on his desk as Steve looked through all the ‘important’ files he had to catch up on, so he could know as much as possible. Steve concentrated on one file about Operation Paperclip, while Howard nattered away.

“So, I used slang, you know? And this guy is _not_ understanding a word. But I know he’s into me. And…” Howard startled as he noticed Steve hadn’t moved for the last thirty seconds. “Oh… shit.”

“Why did no one tell me?” Steve asked, looking up to Howard, who looked halfway to scared.

“You weren’t in the SSR, or SHIELD. We couldn’t… It was confidential. But now you’re here–”

“ _Why_?” Steve flipped the file shut and shoved it towards Howard. “You have so many good scientists here. You could have just killed him! That’s what you do to Nazis.”

“The scientists are beneficial–” Howard’s words came out stilled, so Steve knew it was practised bullshit.

“You should have killed him…”

“Would you? Kill him? It’s been five years since you fought,” Howard said, narrowing his eyes at Steve.

“I could and would, if this organisation wasn’t protecting him.” Steve clenched his fists. “Fucking _Zola_. He tortured Bucky… Just… how could any of you?!”

“Steve… please.” Howard placed the file down and rounded the desk, placing his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “Here, I’ll tell you what, you can look over ever file we have about what Zola’s been doing, okay? Then you can decide what you think of him. If he’s a threat, we can eliminate him, if he’s not, then all is well with the world.”

Steve looked to Howard and calmed down. He was right. Maybe Zola actually had some worth in SHIELD. Perhaps it wasn’t all bad to have the bad guy on your side. If he was dead, that would be better. But this wasn’t a war anymore, this was real life. There were a few more rules to this. Assassinations couldn’t just happen on a whim, not like how a strike team could take down a base. It was all planned, Steve knew that. So, he would have to hold off on his Zola rage for the time being.

Howard swiftly dug out all the files on Zola, especially those that would be relevant to Steve’s inquiry. He was well aware Howard wanted to genuinely help, and from what had been said, Steve suspected that Howard never wanted to recruit Zola. That may have had something to do with his ego, though.

The two worked together, in Steve’s office, sifting through all the data they had. Most of it was just experiments or what Zola did in the past, but one report instantly interested them both. It was a large file, filled to the brim.

“Steve, found something,” Howard said, handing the file over.

It detailed Zola’s _recorded_ travels from when he was released in 1949, to the present day. He was no longer a prisoner, but that didn’t mean there was trust, so SHIELD made sure to monitor wherever he went to. He always had to have a SHIELD agent with him, that was the rule.

The file stated that Zola went to Russia a month after he was released. He came back a week later, only to travel to Washington, DC, _with the same_ SHIELD agent, two days later. Whenever Zola went to DC, he took the SHIELD agent with him. If he went somewhere else, a different SHIELD agent went with him.

Steve looked to Howard, whose eyes were wide. He was coming to a realisation. Steve didn’t know on what, but he knew that Zola’s travel records were dodgy.

“He normally does research when going places... there was no report about his Russia trip.” He picked up another file – that included information about Zola’s research – and flicked through it, pointing out a gap where the research he conducted in Russia should have been.

“What could he have been doing?”

“I don’t know… Maybe he’s working for the Soviets?”

Steve shrugged. “He _was_ HYDRA.”

Howard collected up the files, hopping off the desk. “Come on, Peggy needs to see this.”

The two swiftly left Steve’s office and went up a floor, immediately navigating the corridors to find Peggy’s office, tucked away from any nuisance. Howard waltzed in, with Steve following behind. He slammed the evidence onto the desk, staring at Peggy.

“Zola is a problem,” Howard said.

Peggy, who was engrossed in reading a report, didn’t look up as she said, “he is monitored at all times of the day. It’s fine and under control.”

“ _Look_ at the files, Peggy.”

She glanced over the files, instantly noticing the important evidence Howard had brought to her. “We can do some digging, but no more than that. Zola needs to believe we trust him enough, so he can be of value to SHIELD.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve said. Peggy looked to him and raised her eyebrows before scowling, like she should have thought Steve was behind the suspicion.

“Do you have something to say, Agent?” Peggy asked. Howard glanced over his shoulder, noticing how Steve looked stung. Did Peggy just see him as an agent now?

“Yeah. I wanna know why you thought hiring Zola was a good idea.”

“Operation Paperclip was to ensure Nazi scientists couldn’t begin working for the enemy.”

“And by the enemy you mean the Soviets?” Steve asked, planting his hands on his hips.

“We can’t change what is happening.”

Howard sighed. “We can fight later. Right now, Zola is our main concern. Steve, will you look in to what Zola could have been doing?”

“I can do that.”

Peggy collected up their evidence and handed it back to Howard. “If you find something, Agent Rogers, report to Howard or myself. Don’t get angry.”

Steve huffed out a small laugh. “Stop referring to me as an agent, then I won’t get angry.”

“To be fair, Steve, that is your title now.”

“To be fair, Peggy, I’d much rather be seen as a friend.” He nodded to her before making his way out.

He walked down the corridor for a bit before Howard caught up with him, handing Steve the papers. They went back to Steve’s office in silence. Howard sat on his desk again while Steve made notes on what the reports showed, putting them back in their boxes thereafter.

“She doesn’t want to rile Zola’s cage, you know?” Howard said, breaking the silence. “And we believe if he wasn’t working for us, he could be out there recreating the super soldier serum.”

“I get that… I just wish it wasn’t like this. I wish he was dead.”

Howard shrugged. “Can’t always get what you want.”

“True.” Steve went and sat beside Howard, smiling slightly at him. It was good to have an ally in a place with far different rules.

“I do think you’re right about this.” Howard placed his hand at Steve’s back, letting it linger there. “But if there _is_ nothing–”

“Leave it. I know.” Steve grinned. “Thanks for having my back, Howard.”

“No problem.” He slapped Steve’s back, his hand withdrawing. “You’re gonna love what I have for you in the armoury.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, but Howard just took his hand and pulled him out of the office. They went down a floor and into a room painted black that was full of metal. From the tables to the weapons, everything was silver and black. Steve stood awkwardly in the room while Howard went to one side, pulling out a box and opening it. He pulled out an oh so familiar circular shield. Except, it wasn’t painted the typical colours. Instead, it was painted matt black, with a SHIELD eagle in the middle. Much more discreet.

Steve grinned as Howard passed it to him. He ran his hands over the paintwork. It was still flawlessly shiny. “Thanks, Howard. It’s perfect.”

“Glad you think so. The two agents that painted it got bad backs.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, painting can do that to you.”

Howard smiled. “We have some new uniforms in the changing rooms. Dark navy blue. It’s in your locker.” He placed his hand at Steve’s shoulder, looking earnestly into his eyes. “Go find out the truth.”

Steve mirrored Howard’s gesture. “Will do, boss.” He winked and darted out of there, a blush rising up on his cheeks.

Steve was almost sure he had gone mad with his small flirtations. But there was something about Howard that brought out a confidence in Steve over the last few years. Maybe it was because they were more alike these days. And for a while now, Steve had a strong urge to kiss him.

He stuffed the uniform and shield into a bag. He donned some normal looking clothes and made his way to the offices, to get one of the lovely agents to fake an ID. In the last few months, Steve Rogers had dropped off the map. The last thing he really needed was anyone thinking he was going somewhere, he had to be more discreet. He was an agent of SHIELD now, things were different. Far different to the real world. Steve Rogers was just another name.

Within a few hours, he had a new ID of ‘Grant Mathews’ and a plane ticket for Siberia. That was where Zola had gone to, maybe Steve could find something if he asked the right people.

He said a quick goodbye to whoever saw him on the way out. He wouldn’t be back at base for a while, he wanted to do this investigation right. And it couldn’t hurt for agents to know he was going on a mission.

The plane journey was long, and almost felt unnecessary. Why hadn’t he asked Howard if he could have given his services? Well, it didn’t matter really, as he eventually arrived in Siberia. The cold air whipped around him as he made it onto the streets, with only a bag in hand. Snow covered the ground, and there were few places that didn’t have snow reaching your shin. It made him feel uneasy.

As Steve trudged through the area he was currently in – some town he hadn’t bothered to try and pronounce the name of – he found a guy shouting in English about his stock. He also spoke Russian occasionally and there was a bit of German too. When he spoke English, Steve recognised it as having a German twist. _That_ was the kind of guy he needed to talk to.

“Excuse me,” Steve said, as he approached. “Do you know anything about a small stocky man, with glasses? German accent?”

The guy eyed Steve suspiciously. “You look familiar?” he said, his German accent shining through.

“Do you know _anything_?” Steve asked, his voice pleading.

“You’re talking about the doctor, correct?”

Steve narrowed his eyes but nodded.

“You’re Captain America–”

Steve stepped into his space. “Will you tell me or not?”

The man raised his hands. “There’s a base, in the mountains. _Please_ , I escaped barely with my life after HYDRA. I swear, I never wanted to work for them.”

“I’ll let you live.” Steve smiled and grasped the man’s arm. “But I can’t let hurt anyone.” He tugged on the man’s arm, breaking it and pulling it out of its socket. The man collapsed in pain, howling against the snow. Steve looked on sorrowfully for a second, walking away after that. He had vowed once to kill or capture all of HYDRA, at least this protected his morals, to a certain degree.

‘The mountains’ was a very _relative_ term. Nevertheless, Steve snuck into a private airport and with his neat war time skills, stole a helicopter, because he was dramatic like that and needed to get into the sky to try and find _something_ like a base. Controlling the helicopter was another thing entirely, but the serum made him an exceptionally faster learner, so it wasn’t like that actually mattered.

Once he was in the sky, he spent the next couple of hours monitoring everything. Scrutinising every nook and cranny. And low and behold, miles away from anything and even further away from where he started, Steve found metal in the mountains. And, to be honest, if this was HYDRA and the man hadn’t been lying to him, when had this been built? Or had it been repurposed for HYDRA. Nevertheless, HYDRA’s reach had been far and wide, much more than Steve would have ever thought possible.

He landed the helicopter, with it barely having any fuel left. Steve took his bag and shrugged out of his shirt and trousers, revealing the navy-blue gear. He took the shield and slid his arm through it. He was prepared for anything and everything that could be inside the lonely base.

The large doors were open, and Steve couldn’t tell if that was good or bad. The clunky metal elevator was even worse. It only allowed for suspense on the way down, and when the doors slid open, Steve was surprised to see no guns pointing at him. He made his way through the base, giving it a sweep. And no matter how creepy it was, no one was ever around the corner. There was a large empty room though, it was half constructed. There was a vertical kind of chair in one corner and a clear circle in the middle where _something_ was supposed to be. The base was mostly empty and just plain weird, like it had been cleaned out before being abandoned.

Finding it a bust, Steve made his way out and ignored the helicopter, instead, making his way down the mountain with the help of his shield. He quickly stole some clothes, so no one saw him in the navy-blue uniform and made his way into the hotel he had checked into.

He sorted through what he knew and didn’t know. Zola had stayed in Siberia for a week, yet, the only person who knew _anything_ , led him to a dead end. And Steve wasn’t a super trained spy yet. He was a soldier that was used to having orders and a clear mission. This was different and disorienting, but whatever was in Russia, and whatever could have been brought back, it _had_ to be in DC.

The way the base was set up suggested there was plenty of space for prisoners. So, maybe it was a person Zola was in contact with or keeping prisoner. Maybe it was the object that would fit into the circle opposite the vertical chair.

Whatever it was… it didn’t bode well for anyone.

Steve caught the first plane to DC, after a two hour nap. Within a day, he made it. Albeit, he was tired and worn out due to the travelling. He needed to find a decent hotel and get some sleep before his mission caught up with him. Other than that, he was all ready to go.

So, when he got to the hotel room, he spent a day relaxing. He ate and slept and sketched a bit before heading out into the world, to try and find out what Zola had been up to. If he had been up to anything at all. First point of call? Agent Morris, the person who had supervised Zola on more than one occasion. (But not the one that always went to DC with Zola, that may have raised too many suspicions).

He strolled into the SHIELD base, like he was meant to be there. To be fair, he kinda was. But every agent knew Steve was new, stationed with the leaders in New York. He imagined that they were confused as to why he was there, but he knew where he was going. Peggy had given him the information he needed. He ran up stairs and walked through an emotionless office, coming to a stop at one desk, where Agent Morris was writing something down.

“Agent Morris,” Steve said.

Morris looked up at him. “Oh… Agent Rogers, what do you need?”

“I need to talk with you in private.” Steve glanced around and whispered, “it’s about Zola.”

Morris’s expression dropped for a second before he regained composure. Steve surely didn’t miss that but didn’t attribute it to anything. Morris stood and led Steve to an integration room, no one would disturb them there. Steve sat on the table while Morris leant against a wall.

“He comes to DC often, if that’s what you want to know,” Morris said, bluntly.

“What does he do here?”

“He researches in our facilities.”

“Is that all he does?”

Morris shifted. Steve thought he heard him swear under his breath. “There’s a warehouse. I’ll give you an address.”

“An _abandoned_ warehouse?”

“Yeah…” He seemed hesitant. Like he wasn’t telling the truth, but he was an agent of SHIELD, trusted to watch over Zola. That told all.

Morris whipped out a piece of paper and scribbled across it quickly. He handed it over to Steve and left the room. Steve shrugged it off, even though Morris had behaved weirdly, and committed the address to memory.

Once he had changed into his uniform, shield on his back, he made his way to the warehouse. It was late at night, so he easily blended into the shadows. There were no obvious guards to the warehouse, and the thing was falling apart. Steve moved towards it, taking the shield off his back and attaching it to his arm. He also kept his hand hovering by the gun in his holster, it was merely for backup, nothing else.

He slowly opened a back door, still no guards in sight. Whatever Zola had wanted to do here, he wasn’t protecting it. That was a good sign. There were a set of stairs to his right, which he took, to get an advantage point, if anyone was there. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for, but as he walked out onto a catwalk, above the warehouse, he found… nothing. There were a four crates Steve would have to check, but there was nothing that concerned him. With a quick few movements, he vaulted over the catwalk and used the shield to break his fall.

The floor was dirty and had cracks in it. Clearly, nobody had looked after this place in a long time. It didn’t mean it had been _completely_ deserted, however. Steve easily used his strength to break open the boxes, finding nothing but glass beakers and petri dishes. So, Zola had used it as a makeshift lab, for some reason. Maybe he needed a contaminated environment and not a sterile one? Whatever it was, Steve didn’t know. All it suggested was some testing and nothing else.

He attached the shield to his back and left the way he came. Except, the day had more tales for him, as he spotted something out the corner of his eye. A glint of light, which was reflecting off a shiny surface of sorts. He turned to it, seeing what appeared to be a person with a metal arm. He blinked a few times, trying to see past the glint, but when it disappeared, so had the person.

Steve wanted to chase after it. He also wanted to sleep. So, as a compromise, he climbed up to the roof and did a quick swipe, finding no evidence of anyone ever being there.

Maybe he was just exhausted. The last few days had been a whirlwind. The most exhilarating events he’d had for years. There was something about this line of work that fuelled Steve.

But, he valued sleep much more than pointless goose chases.

\--

He gave himself another day of relaxing before making his way back to New York. When he got to base, he returned his uniform to his locker and the shield to the armoury. Howard caught him as Steve was heading towards his office.

“So, find anything sinister?” Howard asked.

“Nothing. There was a base in Siberia, but it was completely abandoned. If Zola went there to retrieve something, it wasn’t in DC.”

“Hm. Well, all we can do is watch him.”

Steve opened his office door, breathing in the freshness of it. He was ready to properly get to work now. Howard trailed on behind him, his face set in a slight frown.

“Write up a report about all this. It can’t hurt to be too careful.” He perched himself on the edge of Steve’s desk.

Steve shrugged and collapsed in his chair. “I was sure I caught a glimpse of someone with a metal arm.” He sighed. “I think it was exhaustion.”

“Seeing what you wanted to see?”

“Yeah… Apart from that, Zola’s clear. Nothing to worry about.”

“So, whatever he did in Russia hasn’t been written up yet. I’ll see to that.” Howard’s seriousness dissolved as he smirked, leaning back against the desk. “I was wondering if you’d like to come to my apartment tonight… for drinks?”

Steve lay back in his chair, matching Howard’s smirk. “Are you asking me out?”

“Might be.” Howard scooched closer as Steve got up from his seat.

The blinds were closed, the door too. Someone would knock if they wanted to come in. _And_ it was after hours. They were fairly alone.

Steve slid his arm around Howard’s waist, while Howard glided his hand along Steve’s back. His other tugged on one of Steve’s straps, pulling him close, their mouths inches away.

“You sure you want me over for drinks?” Steve teased, his breath ghosting over Howard’s lips.

“I’d drink you,” he said, pulling Steve in for a kiss.

It wasn’t innocent. It was heated from the first moment. Steve tried to be polite, but Howard was having none of it as his tongue swiped over Steve’s bottom lip, asking permission. And Steve was happy to oblige, wasting no time in giving Howard what he wanted. He licked into Steve’s mouth, inciting a moan from him. Steve pushed him further onto the desk, pressing his thigh between Howard’s legs. Which granted him a deep groan.

They pulled and licked and used teeth in all the right ways. Steve soon left Howard’s lips, sucking at his neck instead, leaving little kisses as he bit along his skin. He moved up to his ear, nibbling at the lobe.

“This okay?” he whispered.

“More than okay,” Howard murmured, dragging Steve back into a kiss. “Wanna go back to mine?” he said between kisses.

“Absolutely.”

\--

Steve smacked his shield into someone’s head. They went down like a sack. He ran down a corridor, bludgeoning anyone who got in his way with the shield. When he got to the end of the hall, he looked over his shoulder, shrugging at the bodies that lay on the floor. Few moved.

“Was that a skull cracking?” Howard’s voice echoed over a radio.

“Yes. Now, tell me, was it left or right?”

“Fuck you, you know the way.”

Steve smirked, making his way to the left and into a door on the right. “I wanted you to feel involved.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s been three years, Steve, I know your tricks.” Howard coughed as he whispered something. Steve didn’t catch what, due to the poor quality of the radio. “You got it?”

Steve stuffed some papers into his pockets, turning to a small metal box. “This is supposed to be a horrifying weapon? It’s a _box_.”

“May I remind you the shit we’ve been through.”

“True.” Steve slipped it into his pocket and made his way out, encountering a few guards on the way. They were a fresh batch, though in two minutes, they were writhing in pain or not moving.

“You sure that one guy still has a skull?” Howard wondered.

“No idea.” Steve hopped into an elevator, smiling as it closed and rose to the top, out of the horrible basement. He threw down a keycard. No reason to keep what he didn’t need.

Once outside of the hotel, which was really a front for an organisation Steve had dismantled over the last few days, he hopped into a car parked by the kerb. It drove away quickly, and Steve settled back, placing the shield by his feet.

“So, how was _your_ day?” Steve asked, turning to Howard.

“I’m getting tired of your sarcasm, Rogers.” He glanced to Steve, trying to keep his eyes on the road, but Steve tended to catch his attention too easily. “My day was good. I got to spend it listening to you beat up an entire organisation.”

“Sounds entertaining.”

“It was.” Howard smiled. “You have paperwork to do now.”

Steve groaned. “Can’t you do it?”

“Wish I could. But I’m the boss.”

“Then you’re a bad boss, for having sex with an employee.”

Howard smirked, slightly. “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. I just fired you for harassment.”

Steve gasped. “You can’t fire Captain America.”

“Captain who?”

“Good point.”

They drove back to base and while Howard went to secure the small weapon and the papers that went with it, Steve returned to his office and began detailing everything that had happened over the last few days. It was a lot to get down, and Steve had to write up his body count. It was easily over thirty, maybe fifty. To be honest, he didn’t really know. It was something of a tale around the SHIELD offices. Agents Rogers didn’t have a body count like most, he had averages at best.

Once the report was all done, he found Howard at his door. Their strange relationship had surely evolved over the last three years. Well, it wasn’t much of a relationship. It was really just a friendship with sex on the side, lots of sex on the side. And Steve hardly cared when Howard took women out. They had already discussed _multiple_ times that Howard wanted to marry a woman and have kids. Steve didn’t mind, he enjoyed what Howard could give him.

And besides, he really wasn’t looking for a relationship.

SHIELD had changed a lot in three years too. Steve was now a level 9, and there were many more level 8s and all that. And with SHIELD recruiting more and more, there were still plenty of lower levels too. Their science division was growing, they were gaining more traction with the government and they were building bases around the world. There was one in France now, which Dernier ran.

Things were looking up, for everyone.

Steve and Howard weren’t the only office ‘romance’ (not that anyone really knew about them). Peggy and Daniel had gotten married two years prior and Thompson had been going out with a level 7 agent for six months. People were settling down now that it felt safe to. It was happening everywhere.

But SHIELD was a place full of dangers. You could only enjoy life while you had it.

“Hey, Howard,” Steve said, getting up from his chair.

“Hey, so, I’d say, ‘want to go back to mine’, if it wasn’t for the fact that… well… Zola wants to speak with you.”

“He wants to… what?” Steve slumped back into his chair. “I avoid a man for three years, you’d think he’d stay away like he _should_.”

Howard leant on the door frame, frowning. “Look, I don’t know why he wants to speak with you but… I know you and as much as you’d like to pass up this offer–”

“I’m gonna do it anyway.”

“Yeah.”

Steve stood back up and approached Howard. “Mind coming with me?”

“Sure.”

When they got to the labs, Steve realised just how little he’d actually come to this part of the base. Agents kept a clear eye on Zola at all times while he worked. And the labs had changed quite a bit recently. There were two separate rooms. One where the normal SHIELD scientists went and one where the Nazi scientists went. It made it easier for how many agents needed to be stationed at a particular place.

And for goodness sake, Zola was sitting down, waiting for the them when they got there. Steve took a seat, as far away as he could be, while Howard hovered beside him.

“Hello, Captain.”

“Hello, Zola.” Steve folded his arms. “Why did you want to talk with me?”

“I wanted you to know… that your tactile takedown of the organisation has given me a wonderful new opportunity to work on blood.”

“You can get blood from anywhere, what do you want?”

“I was merely implying that you are not the man from the war.”

Steve glanced to Howard, giving him a ‘what the fuck’ look before looking back to Zola. “I may be different. Why do you care?”

“Because you are becoming a celebrated Agent. And an old friend of yours would disapprove of you losing your… good heart.” Zola smiled slightly, one corner pulling up in a smirk. Steve was unsettled. There was some kind of message here.

“I assure you the good heart is all intact and fine.” Steve rose from his seat and turned to leave.

Zola scowled. “I’m not done.”

“I am.”

As Steve headed to the door, Zola said, “you would make a fantastic HYDRA agent.”

Both he and Howard ignored the statement and left the room.

\--

Steve let himself into Howard’s apartment. It had been a long day and Steve just needed a sit down, a friend and some good old-fashioned sex. Probably not the best coping mechanism in the world, but Howard and Steve had been doing this routine for _years_. It was 1955 now, things were all good and well with the world. And SHIELD really was a gift to the government. A lot had been stopped because agents were at the right place at the right time.

Anyhow, Steve didn’t want to think about it any longer. He got dressed into some softer clothes in the spare bedroom and popped his head around Howard’s door. He was lying on his bed, reading a book, dressed in only a robe. Steve smirked.

“You’re a little scandalous there, Howard,” he said, smirking more as Howard sent a mock glare his way.

“I’m not scandalous _yet_.”

There was a rush of urgency between the two as Steve scrambled out of his clothes and Howard slipped out of his robe. He dragged Steve onto the bed, not wasting a second. They kissed for a little while before Steve decided to hover above Howard, his lips trailing over his jaw and neck, stopping at the base of his throat. He left a little kiss there and Howard shut his eyes softly.

“Can we talk about something?” he asked.

Steve nibbled and sucked at Howard’s collarbone, reluctant to stop. But he did, whining, “now?”

“You’re more than welcome to continue while we talk.”

Steve smiled against Howard’s skin and licked at the mark he’d left. “What is it?”

“Is this still just sex?”

“You developing feelings on me, Howard?”

“Never. For a guy like you?” Howard tried to keep his voice calm, but that was hard while Steve was playing with one of his nipples while he mouthed at his neck.

“It’s still just sex,” Steve confirmed.

“Because of…”

“Yeah.” Steve left one a small kiss on Howard’s chest before looking deep into his eyes. “Do you want it to be more?”

“Maybe? I _love_ this.” Howard put his hand on Steve’s chest. “But this is all it can be, for _so_ many reasons.”

Steve leant down, so that his lips were inches away from Howard’s. “Then let’s enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I can get down on that.” Howard slipped his hand behind Steve’s neck and pulled him in for a very long, heated yet sweet kiss.

The two were well aware that they wouldn’t have this forever. Peggy was beginning to get suspicious of them, but for now, they managed to sway her into thinking they were on missions of their own or were living some rich and horrible lifestyle. Whatever she thought didn’t matter that much, as long as she didn’t know _what_ _exactly_ they were doing. She wouldn’t approve, and SHIELD had a very particular set of rules for relationships. It would mean Steve and Howard couldn’t work together, and they _wanted_ to work together. It would always be friends first.

They often kept their relationship on friendly terms outside the bedroom, for a few reasons. There were small feelings there for Steve, and he was aware that Howard had plenty of feelings for him, had done for a long time. But Steve was not in this for a relationship, no matter for how long it went on for. And Howard still tried to date women. He’d told Steve over and over that he could never be with a guy for real, with how much of a public figure he was. And if he did want a relationship with a guy, he would have to get a cover, a beard. He didn’t want that. It was complicated for the both of them.

Steve was sitting with Howard, in his apartment on a warm summer’s night. The year of 1959 was one that had tested SHIELD, there had been an uncomfortable shift in the intelligence community and nobody knew why yet.

Also, the time limit for how long he and Howard could keep up their more than just friendly relationship was about up. Peggy had only grown more suspicious because as the missions got riskier, Howard and Steve needed to blow of more steam. _And_ Howard had found somebody he liked.

“You really don’t mind?” Howard asked while reading a newspaper.

Steve looked to Howard, suddenly ignoring the book he was reading. It was sci-fi, not really a genre _Steve_ liked. He had his reasons. “Nope. We always knew you would find someone.”

“And you?”

“You know I won’t. Not for a while.”

Howard sighed. “It’s been fourteen years.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Isn’t it time to… move on?”

Steve shrugged and got back to his book. “I don’t think I can. It’s the guilt.”

“Fucking survivor’s guilt,” Howard scorned, looking to Steve pointedly. “Who ever thought that was a good idea?”

“God, probably.”

“Yeah…” He folded up his newspaper. “You really don’t mind?”

“Go for it. You deserve to be happy.”

“So do you,” Howard whispered. Steve pretended he didn’t hear.

\--

The top agents of SHIELD sat in a briefing room, sitting around a table. Peggy was at the top, standing tall. Behind her, a projector was working to show them the beginnings of a file. It was cast onto the wall, so everyone had a clear view.

Peggy, Steve, Howard, Daniel, Thompson. They were the top agents, the most loyal. The best of the best. It was 1962 now. Everyone was in their 40s, they were beginning to slow down a bit. Except, only one didn’t look it nor feel it. Without stubble, Steve still looked twenty-five. Young as ever. Howard kept joking that he had good aging genes, knowing fine well that it was the serum. It affected his cells after all.

Peggy passed around some papers, so everyone had a detailed report of what was going on. “We have a new threat.”

“Which is?” Steve prompted, looking at the paper and glancing to the projection.

“MI6 and the CIA are calling him The Winter Soldier.” Peggy walked back to the front, swapping one piece of paper under the projector for another. It had ‘Winter Soldier’ written along the top and started off with a date in 1959. An assassination of a rebel it seemed.

“Because he originates in Russia? Wow, how creative,” Howard said. Steve nudged him and shook his head. Howard groaned and faced Peggy. Steve knew well that this wasn’t a time for jokes.

Peggy rolled her eyes, her expression hardening. “He already has five assassinations credited towards him. He tends to kill in hand to hand, leaving few marks. Sometimes, the bodies look as if the person had a heart attack, but post-mortem shows they died from internal bleeding, after being hit repeatedly. Whoever this man is, he knows how to kill and is dangerous.”

“Some intelligence agencies don’t believe he exists,” Thompson said. “Why should we?”

“Because it’s best to be aware of your enemies.”

“He’s like a ghost then?” Steve asked. “He comes in stealthily, kills efficiently, gets out and returns home. No different to what we do to our enemies. He could be useful, if we can sway him to our side.”

Daniel shook his head. “You can’t sway someone like that to your side.” Steve had to admit, Daniel knew. He had tried a few years back when an agent of the KGB had been captured by SHIELD. He eventually killed himself to avoid becoming allied with the enemy.

Steve deliberately stared at the papers as he replied, “Oh? I must have made a mistake, I thought we did that with the Nazi scientists.”

“ _Rogers–_ ” Peggy began, only to get cut off.

“All I’m saying is,” He looked to Peggy, “we train our agents to do what this guy is doing. Maybe we should learn from him.”

“We’re not like our enemies.”

Steve scoffed and rose from his seat. “Don’t pretend like we’re any better. We all just believe in what we’re doing, that’s _it_.”

As Steve left the room, making his point final, Howard jumped up from his seat and followed him.

“You have to stop doing that,” Howard said.

“Doing what?”

Howard stepped in front of Steve, stopping him from walking down the corridor. “Going against Peggy. Still being mad about Operation Paperclip.”

Steve shrugged. “I won’t forget.”

“You definitely know how to hold a grudge.”

“Comes from practice, Howard. You know why I can’t forget.” He stepped around him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to find out all I can about this assassin.”

Suffice it to say, he didn’t find much. The guy definitely was a ghost. A strong ghost at that.

\--

It was November 1963. SHIELD agents in Dallas had reported they were worried about multiple casualties and that they needed top level agents to be a watchful eye in the crowd. Something was wrong, something was going to happen. Considering the president was going there in less than three days, Steve and Peggy took the first flight, along with a few of their well-trained agents. They could scout out any threats. They were SHIELD agents, nobody could stop them.

So, once the 22nd came, Steve and Peggy walked along, pushing through the crowds, to keep up with the car. The other agents were on the opposite side, doing the same. The president looked particularly happy, all seemed well.

The first shot barely had anyone reacting, but Steve _knew_ what he’d heard. Knew _a lot_ about how rifles sounded. The second had people ducking while Steve ran towards a building, having caught a glint in a window. The third was quick and Steve could sense the shooter was on the move. Quickly, he dove through the crowd and came running up behind the building, where the shooter was already making his way out the back, gun abandoned. Steve knew the shooter would escape hurriedly but leaving evidence behind was never smart.

Steve ran up to the man, only for him to turn around, knife in hand. They stared at each other for a second, and Steve realised the guy had a mask around the bottom half of his face. Only his eyes were visible. It was tight and fitted, not for comfort. It was like a muzzle, like someone had put it there. Steve almost felt worried for the guy.

He was spurred out of his thoughts as the man lunged forward with his knife. Steve blocked his many attempts to stab him, eventually managing to knock the knife away. It was at that moment that Steve realised what he had missed. The man’s left arm seized his neck, his _very_ efficient _metal_ arm.

Steve, however, knew how to fight dirty. While being choked, he kicked the man where the sun don’t shine. He flinched, badly, letting go of Steve. He regained his composure swiftly, but not quick enough, as Steve tackled him to the ground, clawing the mask off his face.

Only, that was all wrong. How and how and how, echoed through his mind as he stared down in shock.

“Bucky?” Steve said, loud and clear.

Bucky’s eyes widened. “I– Who is…?”

“It’s your name, Buck.”

He reached up and clasped Steve’s arm. “…Why?” he asked, shaking him.

Steve frowned and moved off Bucky, helping him up. “It just is.”

Bucky stared at him, his eyes swimming in fear. “I– I know you…”

“Yeah?”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but something struck his neck. He touched the point of impact, stumbling forward before falling into Steve’s arms. Then, because this day could get a lot, lot worse, something pricked Steve’s neck too. He touched the spot, mouthing ‘oh god’ as his eyes fluttered shut.

Darkness ensued.


	2. The Mind Is Easily Lost

Steve’s head was cloudy. He didn’t really know what was going on. His vision was swampy and blurred, like someone had knocked the seven bells out of him. He got like this, once, in an alleyway. It felt as if he was coming off the effects of anaesthetic. It was all horribly off. He was on a bed of some kind. It was hard and unwelcoming.

That was when it all came rushing back to him.

The president had been assassinated. Bucky was the assassin. Bucky didn’t know his own name. He had a metal arm. Steve had been drugged and possibly captured. He could partly make out black walls and metal all around, but he couldn’t really _see_. They had him on some strong stuff. He could hear, though. And there were voices cutting through the air.

“The Captain–”

“Call him the Asset from now on.” That voice was familiar.

“But that’s what we call–”

“He is to be called the Soldier.”

“Okay. The Asset hasn’t aged a day. We compared him to pictures and looked at his cells through a microscope. They are as healthy as ever, Sir.”

“Is the Soldier’s the same?”

“Yes. Once we cut his hair and shaved him, he looks very young and vulnerable too.”

“Good. This means HYDRA will never have to worry about assassins again, if the Asset is as good as the Soldier.”

“Will we still put them on ice?”

“Yes. We don’t want them to know the passage of time. We need to keep them malleable.”

“Absolutely.”

Steve knew he was the Asset they were talking about, and Bucky was the Soldier. Which meant, the rumours in the community were true, the Winter Soldier was real. And Steve had encountered him twice. Once in 1950 and 1963. Goodness knows how many times he was involved in missions over the years, in the background, a ghost. And he was _Bucky_. He had survived the fall. And since this big bad organisation was involved, they had found him and kept him captive until… he was malleable? Like the voice had said.

And that voice was familiar… An accent foreign. A doctor, perhaps?

Oh… god…

Zola. Steve had been right. He _needed_ to get out of there, he had to save Bucky. If it was Zola, who knew what could happen. And… he had done _something_ to Bucky. Maybe both during the war and after. Bucky was stronger, faster, enhanced. To survive the fall, he had to have been… like Steve.

Steve tugged at his straps, his vision slowly coming into view. He could feel them loosening.

“Ah,” Zola said. “He’s awake. And attempting escape… it seems.” He laughed. “Take him to the machine.”

“Sir, we have to prep him first. Two weeks of torture.”

“I want to watch the Captain fall.”

Steve tried and tried to pull at the straps, before it was too late. But someone quickly injected a sedative into him, because he was drifting off before he had the chance to move any more. There was a bleakness in his mind, it was foggy and unrecognisable. He was coming around. Maybe it hadn’t been strong enough, the drug?

Except, it had been. As Steve was now trapped in metal restraints, at least, that was what he felt.

“Wake up… like a good soldier,” a voice said. The person who embodied it slapped Steve.

“What are you doing to me?” he eked out, blinking away the cloudiness. His vision snapped back and all he wanted was to be oblivious again. He was held in metal cuffs, in a chair, there was something above him, two curved metal plates. Perfect to wrap around the head. And since the rest of the chair was metal… it didn’t bode well. “Please… no.”

“Oh? The Captain is begging?” the voice said. There were other people in the room, but they didn’t speak nor move. They held guns.

“I… Zola?” Steve looked towards the voice, seeing the smarmy man. He may have only seen him once in the SHIELD headquarters, but somehow, he looked different, unhealthy even. And this place was a far cry from any sterile lab.

“Hm. Yes. Say goodbye to your mind, Captain.”

The metal suddenly clamped tighter, forcing Steve into a certain position. A mouth guard was shoved into his mouth. Now he was sure what they were going to do. He stared at the big bits of metal that were lowering, his eyes wide, fear clear within them. The metal surrounded him. The electricity crackled.

Zola smiled as he screamed. He couldn’t feel much else but the pain, he could barely see as he cried out. All he stared at was the ceiling, wishing for it to be over. It burnt, it hurt. But he was healing too fast for it to cause any major damage. He tried to process what was happening, but his mind was going blank. He could hardly think or form a single sentence.

And soon, soon he went still as the electricity kept shooting through him.

He was empty as the metal retracted and returned to its position.

“You are to be the second fist of HYDRA, Asset.”

The Asset stayed staring forward. His eyes were dead. His limbs motionless. He was nothing.

After that, they threw him into a room with folders about HYDRA and a video that repeated their message over and over. The Asset watching and learnt all about how HYDRA was controlling the chaos of the world. How they needed assassins to shape the world. How they needed to create wars to incite the chaos, so that one day, humans would give up control of their own freedom, for the illusion of security. The Asset believed in this. And believed that he could be the one to help HYDRA in its cause.

The video also repeated the words Желание, Ржавый, Семнадцать, Рассвет, Печь, Девять, Добросердечный, Возвращение на родину, Один, Грузовой вагон, every ten seconds. Eventually, the Asset didn’t notice them, because the words had managed to make him blank. At what point that happened, he didn’t know.

\--

The Soldier was being led to a room. He had been awake far longer than he was supposed to be, though, he didn’t ask any questions. He wasn’t allowed to. The guard in front of him clutched his gun tightly, the Soldier knew he was scared. They all were, of him. He didn’t know what he did. Maybe someone got hurt. Someone always got hurt.

The guard opened a door to a room with a bed and a person in the corner. A man with blond hair and stubble beginning to grow. The Soldier was suddenly aware of how short his hair was, how he lacked stubble. His handler had it shaved off, had his hair cut. He didn’t ask why.

The guard gestured for the Soldier to enter the room, so he did, aware that the guard didn’t attempt to close the door. The Soldier had his orders, knew what to do, but he felt something for the figure in the corner, all curled up. Eyes closed. The blond was asleep.

The Soldier didn’t wonder why he wasn’t on the bed.

He approached slowly, keeping his hands in front of him, ready, in case. He crouched down by the blond, his eyes flittering over him. The blond was injured, his head was radiating some kind of warmth. He was hurting. Why was he hurting? There were few answers in a place like this. The machine was always one of them.

The Soldier slapped the blond. “Wake up.”

Blond blinked awake and stared… at the Soldier? The Soldier frowned at him and helped Blond to his feet, trying to get him steady. Blond had blood on his face – the Soldier hadn’t noticed that before, it was subtle, it wasn’t Blond’s blood – and his arm was limp. Still healing.

“They want to hurt me?” Blond asked, leaning on the Soldier for support.

The Soldier faltered at that. Sympathy? He would have to report that problem. “Yes.”

“Please, not the machine. I can’t forget the machine…” he stressed, his voice shook.

“N– Neither can I. I’m…” The Soldier shook his head, his thoughts quickly disappearing. “Come on. They need you now.”

“And need you?”

He frowned. “They want me to watch.”

“Okay.”

The guard raised his eyebrow as the Soldier left the room, with Blond’s arm around his shoulder. But he didn’t say anything, like it proved something. The Soldier didn’t ask. He didn’t want to. He wasn’t really allowed to want anyway. So, they began walking to the room where the machine stood proudly. Blond was a solid yet comforting weight on the Soldier and he didn’t understand why. He just knew that Blond had to stay close to him for the Soldier to feel right.

When they got to the room, with the machine in the corner, people with guns were at every point, like they always were. Their handler sat at one side of the room. Everyone who was needed was present, guards, doctors, their handler. The doctors pulled Blond off the Soldier and he suppressed a whine at the loss. He couldn’t show weakness. He would be punished.

Blond’s shirt was removed. His chest was covered in lines, white lines, they were healing. The Soldier felt glad for that. Blond was soon strapped to the chair, the mouth guard shoved in. He stared upwards in fear as the doctors checked over him. The metal moved downwards, clamping itself to his head. The electricity crackled, the Soldier clenched his fists, the screaming started, and something _snapped_.

“No!” the Soldier screamed. He had to protect this man. He knew Blond meant something. “Let him go!”

“Interesting…” a familiar voice sounded. An old man in a wheelchair. Glasses sliding down his nose. Their handler.

A few guards attempted to hold the Soldier back, but he was strong, and his left arm easily overpowered them. He shoved them to the ground, running over to Blond thereafter. He collapsed by him, gripping Blond’s tightly clenched fist.

“It’ll stop… The pain stops,” the Soldier said, not entirely sure why he was feeling so much sympathy for this man. All he knew was that him being hurt, hurt the Soldier. “It’ll stop, it’ll stop, it _will_ stop.”

The machine soon let Blond go, he slumped down, motionless. A nod from their handler had the guards yanking the Soldier off the ground, he sunk in their arms, watching as they dragged Blond away from the room. He was all limp and unconscious, but no one seemed to mind. The Soldier bowed his head as he was placed in the chair. He didn’t like the pain that came with it.

He didn’t struggle. It was worse when he struggled.

 “I’m sorry,” he said.

His handler wheeled over to him, smiling. He patted the Soldier’s arm. “It’s okay. You won’t remember anything.”

The Soldier was pushed back in the chair, the metal clamped around his wrists and arms. He opened his mouth, quivering slightly as the mouth guard was positioned in. He bit down, eyes hard. They were slightly gentler with the Soldier than with Blond. He was used to this, Blond wasn’t.

The metal clamped around his head. The electricity started.

The Soldier always forgot.

\--

The Soldier and the Asset were equally matched. If one won while sparring, the other just got back up and fought some more, until they tired themselves out and Zola called the session off. And if one started to feel sympathy for the other, they were wiped clean. Short term memories weren’t exactly allowed and long term ones were buried deep below words.

Alexander Pierce followed along closely. Zola taught him a lot about the Solider and Asset. How they had history and that was why they kept feeling sympathy for each other but didn’t know why. They got easily confused and apologetic if they thought they knew the other. It showed how much control they had over their minds, and how much they didn’t.

Regular wiping kept it under control. But that was really a short term solution, everyone knew that. They couldn’t keep wiping them when they needed them to retain memories during a long mission.

Alexander was well aware that the Soldier and Asset didn’t get along well in missions. Out of their last three assassinations together, while they were efficient and got the job done quicker and cleaner than only one could do, the two assassins often couldn’t work well as a team.

They had arguments about the best methods and who should do what while out in the field. And their missions weren’t just ones where the Soldier was handed a weapon and went about his day, ignoring the fact the agent ever existed. The assassins had to be able to follow each other’s lead. When they didn’t, it got messy and uncoordinated. It was becoming a real problem for HYDRA. Their weapons had to be perfected.

Zola sat at a desk while two doctors who worked on the Soldier and Asset sat opposite. Alexander stood in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, listening in.

“Why don’t they work well together? Their compliance isn’t the problem.” Zola asked, adjusting his glasses.

“We believe it has something to do with their subconscious. A deep protectiveness that stops them from working well together because they both don’t want the other to be in those situations,” one doctor said.

Zola hmphed. “What is the likelihood they would remember their past?”

“It’s a low possibility due to the psychological damage we inflicted on their brains. Without a trigger for certain memories, they won’t remember who they were.”

“If they were going to remember themselves or each other, it would have happened years ago,” the other said.

Zola sniffed. “Let them build a relationship. I have a theory.”

“Are you sure, Sir?” Alexander asked. He didn’t like to question Zola, but there was a small chance they would lose control of the Soldier and Asset. “I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”

“Pierce, you are here to listen and learn,” Zola said. “But your worries should be addressed.” He looked to the doctors. “Let them talk to each other before each mission. They need to be monitored, in case they turn against us. Resume the phycological torture as a backup measure. And wipe them after each assassination.”

Alexander smiled at that. He enjoyed it even. The doctors nodded and left the room. Zola smiled at him. Alexander was his apprentice, and he would soon take over control, once Zola’s body gave up the ghost. He wanted to learn all he could before then.

\--

A HYDRA agent pushed a human into the Soldier’s room. He was blond, his hair long, and wore the same clothing as the Soldier. Was this man like him? A servant to the great HYDRA? A weapon? The Soldier didn’t try to ask as the agent left the room, closing the door and locking it once more. The Soldier had been told about this mystery man.

The man moved backward towards the wall and slid down it, facing the Soldier, who was sitting at the end of his bed. He stared with blank eyes, a dark look, he was prepared to fight. The Soldier didn’t want to fight this man. He had orders to befriend him anyway.

“Hello,” the Soldier said, in Russian. They had been moved to a facility, where most spoke Russian, so the Soldier had to as well.

“Hello,” the blond man said. Blond…

The Soldier furrowed his brows but shook his head, losing thought. “You’re a weapon?”

Blond flinched, but no discomfort showed. “Yes.”

“Me too…”

“You’re hurt.” Blond was looking towards the Soldier’s metal arm.

The Soldier stared at his hand. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Good.”

“You’re hurt too.”

Blond embraced his knees. “It’s nothing.” The Soldier didn’t believe him, as he had a healing wound on his neck.

“They… did it to you?”

Blond nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“Weapons can’t be sorry.”

The Soldier moved off the bed, sitting on the floor opposite Blond. “Yes, we can. You’re…” The Soldier touched Blond’s hand, delicately, for a second. Blond furrowed his brow. “We’re the same. We can support… each other.”

Blond shook his head, again and again. “No. No.”

The Soldier placed his hand on Blond’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“Is it…?”

“I… don’t know.”

Blond sharply inhaled, sighing after. “You’re my mission.”

The Soldier nodded. “And I’m yours.”

“Are we friends?”

“We can be.”

“Then we’re friends,” Blond decided with a nod.

They talked vaguely, until the door was opened, and Blond was dragged out. He kept his eyes on the ground and the Soldier watched helplessly as the one chance at having a kindness in his life was taken away. He believed when Blond had been there, like it had unlocked a part of him. A human part of him. He was a weapon, with Blond, he was less so. Maybe that’s why he was taken away.

The Soldier was collected, at one point. The guard at his door seemed to be eager. The Soldier followed him, not really caring. Until, he was shoved into a dark room, with a film playing. There were some sheets of paper on the floor, information. The Soldier turned towards the guard, finding a shut door instead. He hadn’t even heard it close.

“We have to kill… someone…” Blond said. The Soldier noticed him curled up in the corner, if it wasn’t for the film playing, he wouldn’t have been visible. Blond seemed to like corners.

“What’s wrong?” The Soldier sat by Blond, tilting his head.

“They… tried to wipe me.” He looked to the Soldier with pleading eyes. “I didn’t want to forget my friend.”

The Soldier bowed his head. “How many did you kill?”

“Five?”

“They’ll punish you.”

Blond nodded to the film playing in the background, both were trying to ignore it, but it was hard to. “This is what this room is for, isn’t it? Compliance.”

The Soldier nodded. “We’re always ready to comply. We have to be.”

“It’s a child.”

“There are no prisoners with HYDRA.”

Blond smiled, lightly. “Good, it’s mercy.”

“Yeah…”

\--

The Soldier and the Asset worked flawlessly together during their mission. It was clean, quick, set up as a perfect accident. While one did the killing, the other did the set up and removed all notable evidence. It was how it was meant to be, HYDRA had fixed its problem.

Alexander watched as they dragged the Asset to the chair. The Asset was kicking and screaming, overpowering the guards and snapping their necks. Alexander stood far from the chaos, learning from it, while Zola was next to him, doing the same.

“No! I won’t forget him! I won’t!” Two more died in that instant. They couldn’t survive a punch to the chest, it stopped their hearts. “No!” he yelled, backing away from the new agents who flooded into the room.

“They are highly attached to each other, Sir,” Alexander said.

Zola smiled as the agents crowded the Asset, forcing him into the chair. They quickly restrained him and while the Asset struggled, he couldn’t do anything as a doctor applied a sedative to him. “Yes… Even when they know little, they want to protect each other. Why?”

“Because they were friends, in the past? We can exploit that.”

“We need their compliance.”

“Why? They get their minds wiped anyway.”

Zola shook his head. “They are strong enough to escape, we need them to be loyal.”

Alexander gave a nod. He grasped the handles of Zola’s wheelchair and wheeled him out, just as the screaming began.

\--

The Asset was sitting in the corner, scratching something into the concrete floor, when the door to his room opened. He was glad he hadn’t been put back in the ice, it was nice to feel warm. The room was always better than the chamber. Always. And he hated to see another man freeze with him.

It was that man who came in the room. A guard had let him in. Why? The Asset didn’t ask nor wanted to know. The man had long brown hair and a metal arm. It shone in the little light there was. Maybe it was supposed to be like that, to distract people. He was in the same clothing as the Asset. Was he also a servant to the great HYDRA? A weapon like him? He watched carefully as the door was closed and the man sat down on the ground, facing the Asset.

He knew his mission. He had to befriend the man.

“Hello,” the Asset said, his Russian accent was surely getting thicker.

“Hello,” the man with the metal arm said. It was very metallic…

The Asset pulled his knees to his chest. “You’re a weapon?”

“Yes.”

“I’m the same.”

“You’re hurt.” Metallic was looking towards the Asset’s head.

The Asset touched his temple and found dried blood. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Did they… do that to you?”

The Asset nodded. It was part of his training, to be hurt. “Does it happen to you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

Metallic looked down. “Weapons can’t be sorry.”

The Asset crawled away from his corner and sat close to Metallic. “We can. I’m sorry they hurt you. But, our compliance will be rewarded.” The Asset brushed his hand over Metallic’s left one. “We’re the same.”

Metallic curled his metal fingers around the Asset’s. “We’ll be good.”

“Yes. Then they will hurt us less.”

“You’re my mission,” Metallic said faintly.

“And I’m yours.” The Asset held Metallic’s hand firmly. “Are we friends?”

“We can be.”

“Then we’re friends.”

\--

HYDRA soon worked out that no matter how much time the Soldier and Asset spent together, they didn’t remember their past selves, they just built on what they already had. Since it took so long for them to build a decent enough relationship, the memory wipes slowly came to a stop. Instead, other forms of brainwashing took place, often using the same methods as the Red Room. It was efficient and let the Soldier and Asset remember each other. It sped up assassinations.

It also let the Soldier and Asset grow. While the words made them blank, to some degree, them knowing each other made it easier. And if they were good, they were allowed time to talk before being put back into the ice. It was a small gift, to keep them compliant.

As Zola’s body gave up on him, Alexander took over. Although, he wasn’t their handler, he had SHIELD to take care of. Instead, he passed that mantle to someone he’d become friends with in all the years of working for HYDRA. Vasily Karpov. He knew first hand how imperative it was for the Soldier and Asset to work well together, to know each other without knowing any of their past.

They had been wiped too many times for that.

\--

The Asset loved to fight with Metallic. There was something about the way he moved, the way he used the weapons available to him. Just… everything. He learnt a lot from Metallic and he imagined, Metallic learnt a lot from him. They certainly had different styles. The Asset like to get close and personal, while Metallic liked to do things from a distance. Neither really knew why. Just that it was what it was.

They were training, like they usually did, when something strange happened.

The Asset threw a punch that Metallic caught, they smirked at each other, setting themselves a challenge. Metallic tried to pull the Asset down, but the Asset flipped sideways, using his encased fist to bring Metallic down over him. He went slamming into the ground and as the Asset scrambled on top of him, Metallic kneed his stomach, swapping their position. Metallic’s leg slipped between the Asset’s and he _groaned_. As Metallic paused, hesitated, the Asset smiled and switched their positions again, about to attack. To punch him or put his hand over Metallic’s throat. To win.

But the Asset was pulled off Metallic and taken to the other side of the room. He sighed as the doctors studied him. Metallic was taken away and the Asset frowned. He loved to spar with Metallic so much that he forgot to keep the noises in his throat. Of course, their handler had to check he wasn’t faulty. He had to be a good weapon first and foremost.

They asked him questions about ‘the Soldier’ but Metallic wasn’t the Soldier, not to the Asset. Naturally, he lied. The doctors didn’t accept that at first, but the Asset was adamant. He didn’t have feelings for the Soldier. They were friends. He was his mission. His only ongoing one. The doctors did accept that and found the Asset was fine, that it was only a natural reaction to the fighting.

He was allowed to be taken back to his room. The Asset felt nothing but relief for not being wiped. It was a constant fear of his, to forget his friend. But he would understand if his handler deemed it necessary.

\--

The Soldier was shoved into his room. He ignored everything around him and dove down to the corner with the vent in the wall. He sat and waited. Blond would be a while, since he had honestly groaned _like that_ while everyone was watching. They had to be more careful. He wouldn’t forget him. He wouldn’t.

Luckily, when they were in their rooms, they had _some_ privacy.

The two had come up with their own language. A combination of Russian, French, English and German. They also had a sign language. The one they ended up using depended on which rotation the guards were on and what rooms they were in. They knew they were being watched, so coming up with a language that allowed them to keep secrets, gave them time. They usually added a new language to it when they were together for some time and not in ice or on missions.

Today, when the Soldier heard a door slam next door, they had a chance to actually speak.

“You liked our fight today,” the Soldier said, once he heard Blond sit by the vent. There was a slight smugness in his voice.

“Yeah.” Blond sighed with contentment.

“You don’t normally groan like that.”

“What can I say? It is lonely in here.”

The Soldier found himself suppressing a laugh. “That’s not the reason, is it?”

“You make me feel…”

“Human?”

“Yeah…” Blond stayed quiet for a few minutes. Usually he didn’t do that. But this wasn’t a usual day. “Why don’t they use the machine anymore?”

“Maybe… what we have matters? We work better that way. We’re weapons with– with–”

“Personalities?”

“Yeah. More efficient?”

“Perhaps.”

“I call you Blond, you know?” In all their chats, they had never referred to each other by any name. But after today, there was something deeper.

Blond shuffled. “I like that… But can you call me Blon?”

“Yes. That’s better.” The Soldier smiled.

“I’ve been calling you Metallic. Your arm.”

“You should call me Allic… It’s shorter.”

“Yes, I will.” A beat of silence passed between them. “Thank you, Allic.”

Allic smiled. “We can be better weapons now.”

“Yes.” Blon tapped some Morse code on the vent. _‘We should add Arabic to our language.’_

‘ _Arabic_? _Why_?’ Allic replied.

‘ _We only know it because of that one mission but… they won’t recognise it easily_.’

“Okay,” Allic said, ready for them to apply Arabic to their mixed language. They had no idea if the guards had decoded it or not.

It didn’t really matter, as the guards came for them later on. Allic could hear Blon being dragged away in the other room. They went willingly. They had to be good otherwise they would get punished. The guards marched them down the hallway, and by now, they knew where they were going. Into the tall room with the vertical chairs and the ever-present fear of the device in the middle. It hadn’t been used for so long. It may have even been years, if Allic had any perception of time.

Allic stared at Blon as they were strapped in, had everything checked over and attached to them. The orange covers came down, and Blon moved his hand in a motion to reach out. Allic did the same. They were at the opposite sides of the room, too far away to touch, but the gesture meant enough. They kept eye contact as the cold mist of ice wrapped around them. Frozen while reaching out.

\--

Blon had been lying on his bed when Allic was shoved into his room. Allic turned to complain but the door had already been shut. Blon smiled. This _never_ happened. After their first meeting, they weren’t allowed to be in the same locked room. Although, their last mission had been very successful, maybe this was their reward. They certainly deserved it, after so long of talking through vents or using sign language when they were in cells rather than rooms.

Blon jumped out of his bed and wrapped his arms around Allic. “I missed you,” he said, in their language.

Allic pulled Blon close. “I never thought we’d be allowed this”

“Neither did I. I’m glad, Allic.” Blon pulled them to his bed, getting them both to sit. “Maybe they trust us.”

“Do you trust your gun?”

“No…”

“Then they’ll never trust us.”

Blon placed his hand at Allic’s cheek, getting him to look at him. Allic leant into the touch, the warmth, the gentleness of it. They didn’t get gentle. Not ever.

“I trust you,” Blon said, sternly. It was a promise.

“I trust you too.” Allic took Blon’s hand into his own, bringing it up to his lips and leaving a small kiss there.

“This is our… one opportunity.”

“I know…” Allic smiled and moved closer to Blon. “I don’t want to waste this time.”

Blon leant in, brushing his lips against Allic’s. They were softer than he imagined, for a weapon. Allic breathed slowly. This was all they ever wanted for _so long_. They didn’t even know _how_ long. So, when Blon pressed his lips fully against Allic’s, they hardly expected it to be so charged. Nor as gentle as it was. They existed to kill, not to love. They were surprised they had been given time to become close, never mind this.

They knew it would be over as soon as someone noticed.

Allic lay back on the bed, Blon hovered over him. It was slow, gentle, beautiful. There was an urgency to it, but not so much that it was messy. They didn’t want to rush either, otherwise they’d be overstimulated. Allic slunk a hand behind Blon’s neck and pulled him down, kissing him with all he had. They didn’t know why they knew how to kiss, but they did.

Blon sucked at Allic’s bottom lip, gaining a delightful moan from him. Allic, getting slightly more desperate with his _need_ , flipped them over and licked into Blon’s mouth, eliciting a sweet groan from Blon’s throat. As Allic’s lips slipped off, he began kissing downwards, to his neck, sucking so intently that shivers coursed repeatedly through Blon’s body.

It was electric in a way that was nothing like electricity. Allic bit at the skin, his tongue darting out to lick at the mark, kissing it once. He rose up, watching. Blon could feel the thing heal in seconds. Allic smiled and kissed Blon, deeply and hungrily.

It was all getting steadily less gentle.

Of course, HYDRA couldn’t let their weapons be like that. Allic was being pulled away from Blon far too soon, before they got any further than kissing. But he went willingly, he didn’t want to be punished. They didn’t want to forget.

So, Blon watched as two guards took Allic out of the room, with his perfect lips, his perfect self.

Blon loved him.

They came for Blon next, and he knew where he was going. They _were_ going to be punished. They didn’t go to the large room with the ice and the chair, they went to the room with a glass window and dark metal all around. Allic was already strapped to a chair, his breathing heavy and fast. They had attached the muzzle to him. Blon hated the muzzle. He even had his own, to mask him when HYDRA saw fit. They didn’t know what qualified the use of the muzzle and what didn’t.

Blon was shoved in a chair opposite Allic, to which Allic’s breathing increased. Hyperventilation. Panic. Blon didn’t want Allic to panic over him. At least they weren’t forgetting, this was mercy. A small one.

This wasn’t compliance. This wasn’t blankness. This was punishment. To test them to their limits until Blon and Allic wished they could forget, not that they would ever really want to.

They brought out the knives first. Blon and Allic stared at each other, their mouths covered, only their eyes visible. They clenched their fists as the knives dug into them, cutting along their skin and tearing it open jaggedly. They screamed and breathed heavily, clenching their fists tighter and tighter to distract them from the pain.

The knives never lasted long. Their skin liked to knit back together before the agents were done.

Whips were always second.

It sliced them. It stung against their already existing wounds. Blood seeped out of them, pouring onto the ground, where red stains already lay. It stained everything it came into contact with and dried against the cold ground. As the whips kept going down and the two yelled in pain, they made eye contact. With their eyes they managed to communicate that it would be over soon.

But the fire was never a short endeavour.

At least it was hot enough to cauterize some of their wounds. The thick lines from the whips, the torn open flesh from the knives. The agents kept the fire on their stomachs until it created third-degree burns. It burnt at their arms too. It made for the worst screams, the more horrifying ones. Blon and Allic never kept their eyes open for that.

Last but certainly the worst was the ice.

They froze parts of their skin and tested on it. It crackled and pulled and hurt. But they healed and didn’t lose any limbs. They kept testing and testing. Picking ice away from their skin, making more torn open wounds. Sometimes they would freeze an entire arm, just to test how their bodies would defeat it. Their skin always warmed to extreme temperatures to counteract it. It always hurt, it always made them scream.

All of the pain was terrifying. But they had each other still, they could manage as long as they didn’t forget. It didn’t mean much to hurt, they were weapons. Getting hurt was part of it all. They were used to it. Their bodies healed anyway.

After that, after their wounds were no more, they were thrown into what Blon and Allic called the compliance room, where they were forced to concentrate on footage with subluminal messaging. Less terrifying but it brainwashed them into HYDRA’s thinking all the same.

They knew they had done the wrong thing, but they had minds of their own. It didn’t make a weapon dangerous per se. It just made them able to be something akin to human.

\--

The Red Room was a different place entirely. They still needed to assassinate people when necessary, but training the girls was another long-haul mission for them. And by training, it meant sparring with the girls so that they could learn how to overpower even the strongest of enemies.

It also meant the girls that failed… met a certain fate.

If you couldn’t overpower a super soldier, you weren’t worth the program. The younger ones, who weren’t old enough to train intensely, watched. They didn’t fail to notice the thinning of the herd. No one could miss how one day, a girl lived, and the next, she was nowhere to be seen. They weren’t allowed to mourn for the girls who died.

Blon and Allic hated it. If they were even allowed to hate anything.

There was one girl they took a shine to. Even in her extremely young age, she was tough, unbreakable, unlike some of the other girls. She was powerful, even to a point where she could trick Blon and Allic in their free time. They liked it when people stood a chance against them.

They couldn’t hurt the girls, they weren’t allowed to. If they failed, Madame B would take care of it.

“ _Do you know the year_?” Blon asked Allic, in their language. They were standing in the shadows, due to the fact that they had no orders yet.

“ _We have no concept of time_.”

“It’s 1989,” a girl with red hair said, in French, as she passed by the two. The younger girls were going to watch their older peers dance. Hopefully they were perfect. They always hoped. Even if the Red Room destroyed that part of them.

Blon and Allic looked to the girl, with wide eyes. She was too young for the proper training, but she was _smart_. The two had been right to think she was unbreakable. No one knew of their language. No one. Some of the girls had caught onto their sign language, it was easier to decipher since Blon and Allic came up with it before they learnt enough. But for the little redhead to be powerful enough to decode several languages? It proved that she would never fail.

“ _She will be a perfect weapon_ ,” Allic said, staring after her.

“ _They’re not like us. They’re not weapons_.”

“ _They’re assassins…_ ”

Blon stared blankly. “ _Respect is what they’ll have. We’re nothing_.”

“ _I trust you_ ,” Allic said, with so much conviction.

Blon nodded, not entirely paying attention. “ _We have to watch the girls…_ ”

So, they went. It wasn’t their orders, but Blon and Allic had a good mind to watch the girls and learn from them. The Red Room was vastly different to all the training Blon and Allic had. They were trained to be empty, to feel nothing when the right words were spoken. They were highly skilled, able to infiltrate entire organisations and take them down like they had a kill switch. The girls in the Red Room had similar abilities, after their ceremonies, but they were never truly empty. Never truly meant for what Blon and Allic were used for. The Soldier and the Asset.

Blon had come to realise they called him the Golden Asset. He didn’t like it anymore than Allic liked Winter Soldier. It was who they were when they were disconnected from the world.

As Blon and Allic approached the room where the girls were dancing, Madame B turned to them. She gestured to a corner, far away from the others. Both Blon and Allic were aware how easy it would be to snap her neck. They wouldn’t. They couldn’t. They would forget if they did.

They watched the girls dance. They were older than their favourite, the redhead, Natalia. Teenagers maybe. Two fell. They were dragged away by the other girls. Blon and Allic supressed a wince at that. They could never imagine losing a fellow comrade like that. Normally, it was Blon and Allic who did the dragging, but not today, Madame B was angry with them. They didn’t know why. They didn’t ask.

Until, she told them directly. “The girls tell me you don’t want to hurt them. You have a secret sign language that I’ve never seen.” She straightened up. “But _they_ do and have decoded it.”

Allic turned to the girls left in the room. There were several still dancing, but the younger girls seemed particularly interested in watching Allic. He smiled, slightly. Small enough that only vulnerable kids would notice.

‘ _Don’t tell Madame about what we say. We could lose each other_.’ He paused in the middle of signing. ‘ _We’ll all get out of this one day. All of us._ ’

“What did you say?” Madame B demanded, as some of the girls subtly smiled. Natalia nodded to Blon, making a promise not to tell.

“I didn’t say anything,” Allic remarked, proudly, causing Blon to suppress a laugh.

Madame scowled. “I’ll tell your handler.”

Blon and Allic immediately bowed their heads in a silent ‘I’m sorry’. Madame B turned from them and concentrated on the girls. Another dancer had fallen.

Feeling tense, Blon backed up neatly into the corner, huddling in it. There was always comfort in walls surrounding you, Blon made use of that. Meanwhile, Allic stayed watching the girls, in awe. He really had grown attached to them. An ancient feeling of protectiveness he couldn’t put a name to.

‘ _We’ll try to shield you_ ,’ he signed. The girls understood what that meant.

\--

When they had no orders, Blon and Allic spent time with Natalia, in the little spare time she had. She sparred with them, separately, of course. They weren’t doing it for training, just for fun. Natalia was too young for the training anyway, but it was never too early to give her skills above her peers. The two needed to do that for her, to ensure she would survive it all. They wanted her to survive it all.

Blon was siting on the ground, back against the wall, as Natalia learnt self defence techniques from Allic. He demonstrated and helped her with the moves before they got into sparring properly. This time, they were practicing self-defence

Natalia punched Allic in the stomach, when he managed to get her in a headlock. She tried elbowing him repeatedly, only for him to gain a tighter hold. Not even scratching would make him let go.

Natalia tapped out, to which Allic let go immediately. She turned to him and whispered, “Blon was getting murderous.”

“He always does,” Allic quipped. He sent Blon a look of ‘ _really_?’.

Blon replied – in their sign language – with, ‘ _you were hurting Natalia. We vowed to protect the girls, from us_.’

Allic frowned. ‘ _I know. Sorry_ ,’ he signed back.

The two may have been the best two assassins to ever exist, but the Red Room used techniques that tended to be used on them when they acted out of line. (Usually when they got caught being intimate). The pain never stopped. So, they connected well with the girls. Knew deep down they needed to shield them from the worse. In training, if they didn’t show their true strength, the girls could buy themselves time. A few more days or weeks. Eventually, those who couldn’t win against them did break. It was a terrible fate, Blon and Allic sympathised yet didn’t show it. Sympathy was a good qualifier for torture… or forgetfulness.

Natalia signed, ‘ _You won’t hurt us. You won’t kill us. You are more than weapons_.’

Blon and Allic frowned. Natalia was wrong. All they had been was weapons. They knew nothing else. They had a past, they knew that. They didn’t know what it was. Weapons didn’t get that privilege. The Red Room had more humanity compared to their handlers. The two were nothing more than the most advanced weapons, soldiers, assets.

Natalia faltered as she noticed a lack of reply. ‘ _The girls believe in you. I believe. We respect you_.’

Blon and Allic gave a nod but no reply. Natalia’s expression hardened, but she didn’t say anything either. Instead, they all returned to their rooms.

\--

Natalia watched as Blon and Allic demonstrated how to climb atop someone’s shoulders and bash their head enough to disorient them. It was more of a self-defence technique to anyone who wasn’t a super soldier. Natalia, however, was lethal enough to learn how best to kill someone from doing that. Blon and Allic had learnt that well enough over the years. She was seven now and was as smart as hell, easily picking up new techniques.

As Blon untangled himself from Allic’s shoulders – who stumbled back – he kicked his knees and Allic fell to the ground. Natalia clapped at the performance and Blon helped Allic up, ensuring he was alright.

Natalia jumped up, ready for her turn. She approached Blon and got into a good fighting stance. Allic grinned, the two loved to train the girl. Blon moved towards her, waiting to see what she would do. She punched at his stomach, avoiding Blon’s make to grab her. She ducked around him and used his shirt to propel her up. Using her acrobatic skills, she swung her legs around his neck and began hitting with both her fists. At seven, she didn’t do to much damage, but she knew how to do the move, that was the main thing.

Blon helped her climb down. He beamed at her and so did Allic. They were proud of her. Really proud.

Natalia smiled at them.

“I hope you realise how tough I am,” she said, in Latin this time. Blon and Allic had taught her. It was always good to learn dead languages when you needed privacy.

Blon nodded. “We do. You’re the only one who has ever been able to trick us in a fight, to talk in our language.”

“And the only one who will grow up able to beat us,” Allic continued.

Natalia tilted her head to the side. “Why?”

“Because it’s in your blood, to fight. To kill.”

“It makes you a better weapon,” Blon said, his voice had a slight shake to it. “Always be prepared, or they’ll come for you.”

“I never fail, Madame B says so.”

“Good.”

They kept training, kept letting Natalia learn from them. She was unbreakable. Perfect. Malleable. The two wanted to make sure she would never be scrapped, that she would be the best. To be fair, she was learning from the best resources anyone had. Natalia would survive to her ceremony, everyone knew that.


	3. Memories Always Trigger

It was all over far too soon. Blon and Allic were pulled from the Red Room, only to return to the bleakness of the ice. They had loved the years they’d gotten there. It gave them a freedom they hadn’t had… ever. The ice was almost scary to them now. Foreign and cold, so cold. Natalia was upset when they had to go, but she didn’t let it show. Couldn’t let it show.

When they were brought out of the ice, the words were spoken before they knew it. The two were so used to the pain the triggers brought, it changed them from Blon and Allic and made them into the Soldier and the Asset. They were still who they were just more blank than they were supposed to be. And the Red Room hadn’t helped in keeping them empty.

A good assassination was what they needed. For their sanity, really. For HYDRA. For the elite death squad they had seen when reading up on their mission.

Their mission was simple. Make it look like an accident. Steal the goods. They had done it a thousand times. It would be no different. Nothing would change.

Nothing ever changed.

They were given a motorcycle. Allic drove it, he always drove when it came to these things. He was more reliable and less likely to crash than Blon was. Not that they knew why that was.

They waited at the side-lines, among trees, in the dead of night. There were few lights on the road. Perfect for an accident. As the car drove on by, Allic switched on the light and drove forward. Blon held on tightly, ready for their plan.

The car crashed into a tree.

Allic parked up and checked the trunk.

Blon destroyed the camera.

Their target was calling for help.

Allic grabbed him and raised his fist.

“Sergeant Barnes…?”

Blon appeared at Allic’s side, only for their target to gasp. Allic hesitated, his eyes darting to Blon. Their target was surprised, not scared. That didn’t happen.

“St– Steve?” their target said.

Allic raised his fist, suddenly, ready to take the guy out. He wanted the target to stop talking. But Blon grabbed his arm before he could move.

He let go of their target, turning to Blon. “ _Why_?” he asked in their language.

“ _I know him_ …” Blon glanced to the target, furrowing his brow.

Allic froze up. “ _Steve is your name_?”

“ _I guess_. _And your last name is Barnes_.”

“ _You loved this man_?” he asked, eyeing Blon up, who only shrugged.

“ _Maybe once_?”

Howard squirmed, leaning back against the car. “If you’re here for the serum, take it. God, you’re so young.”

Allic stared blankly. “ _They’re going to replace us, with the death squad_.”

“ _I don’t want to…_ ” Blon shook his head, losing his thought.

“ _We need to destroy the serum_.”

“ _What about our handler_?”

Allic shuddered, his mind flooded with possible punishments. “ _We say the serum was already gone_.”

“ _We’ll get punished. I don’t want to forget you…_ ” Blon frowned, looking to Howard. “I can’t kill him either,” he said in English.

“Then we won’t kill him.”

“Do you know each other?” Howard asked, coughing.

“Yes. We’re Blon and Allic. The Winter Soldier and the Golden Asset. We’re… weapons with personalities,” Blon said, like it was something he kept close to his heart, to remind himself and remember who he and Allic were.

Howard shook his head. “No. You’re not weapons. You were soldiers, before then you were boys. You are Steve Rogers and… Bucky Barnes. Inseparable, to the end of the line you always cracked on about.”

Allic stumbled back, Blon caught him. “I know… that–” His eyes widened immensely as Blon kept his eyes trained on him. “I remember…” He shook the man before him. “Oh god, I remember.”

Blon– Steve frowned. “Bucky. Oh my god, _Bucky_. I remember… I don’t–”

Bucky sunk against Steve’s arms and they lowered to the ground, holding each other. Small comforts were needed in that moment, because now that they _knew_ , it opened a door to all the horrors. One moment, everything they had done was locked behind their new personalities. Now, Bucky was well aware his old self was rebelling against that. He assumed it was the same for Steve. Without the machine wiping their minds, it must have made the programming easy to break through. This was the kind of trigger their minds had been waiting for.

“How long… have we been… killing for _HYDRA_?” Bucky asked, his breathing laboured.

Steve wiped the tears crawling down Bucky’s face away yet ignored his own. “I don’t know…”

Howard, who had been moving back towards the driver’s seat, let out a small noise. “It’s December 1991… Steve, you’ve been missing for twenty-eight years.”

Bucky felt a chill run through him. “And I’ve been gone for forty-six…”

Howard crawled into the car and hit a button. “Maria… get out,” he said weakly, falling back onto the ground.

The car was on fire and was likely going to explode if they didn’t get away. Explosions were still too frequent in crashes, Steve and Bucky had often used that to their advantage… in the past. Bucky felt a pang of worry for everyone around, and that was a strange feeling to get after regaining his memories. Nevertheless, he and Steve got Howard and Maria far away from the burning car.

“We have to kill our handler and dismantle HYDRA,” Bucky said, speaking only to Steve. “SHIELD also needs to be swept out.”

Howard trembled, while he held Maria as she herself shook. “SHIELD?” he asked.

“Doctor Zola,” Steve offered as an explanation, not looking away from Bucky. “He was our first handler.”

“Oh god…” Howard murmured. “You were right.”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah… And he had Bucky for all those years.”

“You said HYDRA… Zola recreated it?”

“No. It never died.” Bucky faced Howard. “Cut off one head and two more grow in its place.”

“Pierce,” Steve said. “Alexander Pierce is their leader, for now.”

“Not for much longer.” Bucky tugged on Steve’s sleeve. “We have to kill him first, then Karpov and everyone at that base.”

“And the death squad. We need to burn the book.”

“Rescue the girls.”

“Then, we’ll escape it all.” He let out a breath. “Do you know where my shield is?” he asked Howard, who instantly smiled.

“That old thing? It’s at my house.”

Steve nodded as Bucky went to the trunk, grabbing the bags of blue fluid from the case. He made his way over to the fire and threw them in. The fire roared with it, changing colour with all the chemicals that had been added. There were hints of yellow and lilac. As Bucky returned to Steve’s side, the fire crackled and sparked, swiftly increasing in volume before the car exploded. Heat washed over them.

“Do you have a way home?” Steve asked.

Howard held Maria close to him. “Yeah, don’t worry about us.”

Content that they had a plan and that Howard and Maria would be safe, Steve and Bucky returned to their bike. Within a second, Bucky was speeding away, and the two spared a look to Howard, glad that he managed to break through the block in their minds. They may have had their memories back, but they didn’t know who they really were.

What they _did_ know, was where Howard’s house was. They’d read it in the report. And it didn’t take too long to get there. They parked up the bike and snuck past all the security, in order to get right up to the doorstep. Bucky looked to Steve, wondering how they should approach this, but Steve just rang the doorbell, shrugging. The two waited for a few minutes, only hearing the faint sounds of music. As the door, eventually, opened, they straightened up, seeing a confused Tony Stark.

“You aren’t reporters, are you?” he asked.

“You’re a genius,” Bucky began, stepping in, with Steve following. Tony did nothing to stop them. “Howard’s your father, of course you are.”

Steve smiled sweetly. “And if you looked, you’d know fine well who we are.”

Tony squinted. “Holy… Steve Rogers? The artist, the agent, the _captain_? My dad never shuts up about you.”

“Any chance you know where my shield is?” Steve asked, Bucky didn’t linger on the tone of regret in his voice.

“Only if you tell me what happened.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, absolutely not. Tell us where the shield is.”

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s arm, causing him to relax. They always knew how to calm the other down, especially when they got close to the edge of being murderous instead of curious. There _had_ been missions where they had to spy on people before they could assassinate them, due to secrecy or security.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Okay. Fine. I’ll go get it. Don’t touch anything.”

As Tony left the open hallway and disappeared down a set of stairs, Steve noticed a picture standing upon a table. Bucky watched him carefully as he approached it, picking it up. Already disobeying a wish. But Bl– Steve had always done that. Going against what people told him to do. Bucky approached, and noticed it was a picture of Howard’s wedding day.

“He got married in ’67…” Steve said. “I’m glad but… they were supposed to get married in ’64. Howard always said the year sounded nice. 1964…”

“You went missing…” Bucky murmured, frowning. “And they held it off?”

He put the picture down. “I didn’t know Maria well… Howard kept her away from SHIELD. She was always nice and never judged me for… grieving.”

“Grieving?” Bucky asked. But Steve didn’t answer as Tony was back, and they’d both heard his footsteps.

As they turned around, Tony held the shield tightly. Its paint was still immaculate, the SHIELD logo was newly painted with a more recent design. Howard never let go.

“Why did you use a shield?” Tony asked, handing it over to Steve.

Steve attached it to his arm, smiling at the familiar feel. “It worked, for what I needed. Close combat, range. It’s not a shield, it’s a weapon.”

“How?”

“It’s metal and it hurts. Your dad will tell you all about it, I’m sure.”

Tony nodded and sighed. “Are you going to kill someone?”

Bucky headed towards the door. “Oh, we’re going to kill lots of people. They’re the bad guys, don’t worry.”

Steve nodded and headed over to the door. Tony watched as they left, surely wondering what the hell just happened.

\--

Inside the New York headquarters, Steve was out of his mind with memories flashing back. It wasn’t the same place, but the coldness of everything, the lack of warmth, was far too familiar. Sure, there was far more technology and different uniforms, but it was the same too. In ways that it also wasn’t, weirdly.

Steve and Bucky made a stop at the armoury – after avoiding multiple agents – to change into their uniform. This was very much a rush job, but the Soldier and the Asset _had_ gone AWOL. HYDRA would know soon enough. They needed to act fast.

Once they changed, they could blend in and make their way through the corridors without much trouble. As they worked their way upwards, nobody batted an eyelid. They found their target walking down a hallway, alone. They strode up to him, he didn’t notice until it was too late.

As Bucky grabbed the man the two knew to be Fury, the director, Steve opened a door on the left. He locked it once Bucky dragged Fury in, shoving him into a chair. It was a small room, with tables and chairs. It could have been an office once.

“Motherf–” Fury began, until he set eyes on the two. He scoffed. “Captain America and Bucky Barnes, huh? How the fuck are you here?”

Steve grabbed a chair and sat, levelling Fury with a look. “SHIELD has been compromised since its conception. It’s HYDRA.”

“HYDRA?” Fury asked, disbelieving.

“Armin Zola, recruited in 1949, had been building HYDRA from within. During his first year, he travelled to Russia and repeatedly travelled to DC. He was steadily brainwashing and training Bucky to be The Winter Soldier. Zola had successfully brought agents to his side during that time and beyond. When we first knew of the Winter Soldier, it was too late. I was captured in 1963 and I would quickly become the Golden Asset, otherwise known as the second Winter Soldier,” Steve said, matter of factly, like he was laying out a report instead of what he lived.

Bucky folded his arms. “One of the people he trained to take over from him was Alexander Pierce. He was supposed to be our handler but concentrated on SHIELD instead.”

Fury furrowed his brow. “Hold on, _you’re_ …?”

“Highly trained assassins?” Bucky said. “Yeah. We’ve only just got our memories back.”

“You could kill Pierce easily. Why contact me?” Fury wondered, his tone was definitely still sceptical.

“Because someone’s gotta make sure SHIELD survives this. You’re gonna lose a lot of agents, people you trust,” Steve said.

Fury stood, nodding once. “Welcome back to the fold Agent Rogers, Sergeant Barnes.” He gestured to the door, the outside. “I’ll make sure SHIELD survives. Carter and Stark would kill me if I didn’t.”

“We also need you to tell us where Pierce is. If you believe us that is.”

Fury steadily looked to them. Clearly, his mind had already decided. “You both being here is evidence. And you came to me when you didn’t need to. I believe you.”

Bucky nodded. “Where is he?”

“I’ll take you to him.”

Fury was confident in his walk as he led Steve and Bucky to an elevator. Once inside, he tapped a code on the panel and the elevator moved upwards, taking Steve and Bucky to the top floor. Fury glanced towards them as the elevator made its slow ascent.

“Who are you now?” he asked.

Bucky glanced to Steve, then the floor. “We’re not who we were. With our memories, we’re not who they made us to be either.” He shrugged. “We’ll find out.”

Fury gave a nod, keeping his eyes on them as both Steve and Bucky’s expressions hardened, almost becoming blank, except, there was clear anger there too. They were gearing themselves up, to take whatever they needed, if that meant revenge or something else, it didn’t matter. HYDRA wouldn’t survive the week.

Fury led them down a corridor, coming to a stop at the end. A large office, by the look of the floor layout. He opened a door, walking in first. Bucky withdrew a knife, Steve stood slightly in front, the shield poised, to protect them both, in case of any eventuality.

“Nick, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just showing some new agents around and ended up here.” Fury smiled. “I’m making them level 8s.”

Pierce stood. “Level 8s? Have they _just_ started?”

Taking that as their cue, Steve stepped into the room, throwing his shield at Pierce. He didn’t even have time to react as the shield bellowed into his chest, knocking him down. It wedged itself into the wall, taking a large chunk out. Bucky moved toward the desk in the corner, jumping on top of it. Pierce wasn’t moving, but Bucky wanted to be sure. He threw his knife into Pierce’s neck. It didn’t make a pleasant noise as it cut into him.

Pierce gargled. “How…?”

Steve laughed as he too jumped up on the desk. “You did the stupid thing of sending us on a mission to kill an old friend.”

He was dead then. The blood rushed out of him and the shield had already likely broken every bone and organ in his chest. Steve and Bucky looked to each other, their eyes half dead. They had things to do, people to see, Pierce was just one head.

As Steve pulled his shield out of the wall, Bucky approached Fury and said, “Pierce will likely have files or data on who is HYDRA. I’d suggest you get your people to look at it before a new leader can take his place.”

“I think I know a few I can trust,” Fury said.

Steve gave a nod, appearing beside the two, dusting his shield off. “Do you have transport we can use? We need to get to Siberia fast.”

Fury folded his arms. “Why?”

Bucky smiled. “We’re going to kill our handler and destroy that part of HYDRA. Your agents can surely do the rest.”

“Hm. Only my best.” Fury walked over to Pierce’s desk, frowning at the body. He sat down and began using the computer. SHIELD had already managed to advance that technology beyond what people thought was possible, for 1991. “I’ll get you transport for a jet. Bring it back in one piece.”

“What do you take us for?” Steve asked. Both he and Bucky knew fine well how to pilot planes.

Fury looked to him, his eyes stern. “I take you for the guy who crashed a plane into the Arctic.”

“It was necessary.”

“I’m sorry, you did _what_?!” Bucky very nearly yelled.

Steve rolled his eyes. “It had bombs and there was no safe landing.”

Bucky pointed to him. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“There’s an SUV waiting for you outside,” Fury cut in. “I’d suggest you complete your mission. I’ll do my part.”

\--

Steve and Bucky landed in a place where the base would not be able to detect them. They needed the element of surprise. No one could know they were back yet. People had gone with them to New York, but they were guards and not a problem. They weren’t even _good_ HYDRA agents, just the lackeys. Besides, Fury and his team would take them out when it came down to it.

The good thing about being the Soldier and the Asset was the weapons they had on them. They had plenty, and at that, plenty of ammo too. Paired up with the shield, their strength and Bucky’s arm, it was hardly likely anyone would stand in their way.

They entered the base, and no one noticed, to their mild surprise. The way they had snuck in, the guards on the outside hadn’t detected them. They were master spies after all, it was easy all things considering. They’d kill them later, there was no rush. Right now, the best thing they had going for them was taking out everyone inside before they could do a damn thing about it.

The elevator ride gave them time to get into fighting mode. To prepare and be ready for whatever was beyond those doors. They weren’t Captain America and Sergeant Barnes, WWII soldiers who fought against HYDRA’s weapons of mass destruction. They weren’t the Soldier and the Asset, two assassins who did anything HYDRA would ask of them, if they said the right words. They weren’t Blon and Allic, two brainwashed people looking for humanity. They were themselves, whoever that may have been.

Right now, it made them assassins who were ready to kill everyone they saw.

When the elevator opened, and the guards meant to be patrolling were too busy talking, Steve and Bucky snuck behind them and grabbed their heads, snapping their necks in a fluid motion. Bucky picked up one of their guns and Steve attached his shield to his arm, walking in front of Bucky at all times.

As Bucky shot at people, Steve used the shield to ricochet bullets back onto the agents. The shield was very useful in that respect. As they rounded one corner, making it towards the large room with the chambers and the ever-looming chair, four guards stood in their way. Steve wasted no time in throwing his shield at them, glancing to Bucky with a grin as it bounced off each one, immediately taking out the other. It eventually made it to a wall, and with the angle, it ricocheted off and returned to Steve.

Bucky rolled his eyes at the dramatics and moved forward, turning into a small hallway leading into the large room. He began shooting, getting everyone to focus on him as Steve ran in, throwing his shield. It spun around the room, taking out the people that had been standing in a convenient circle.

The death squad were there too, but they were confused, unprepared and were no match for two super soldiers. As Steve knocked them down with his shield, Bucky shot at them, occasionally using the shield’s great ricocheting abilities to take another out. Soon, their replacements lay dead and Bucky strode up to one corpse, taking their gun.

They glanced to the chair and shivered. There was an unnecessary risk there. So, Steve used his shield to destroy as much as he could, including all the technology that surrounded it. Bucky ripped the electricity panels clean off and bent the metal. Even if they recreated the chair, it would take time.

They made their way further into the space, clearing out each and every room. Each person was unsuspecting as no one had called for help. And sound had never travelled well in the base. Too much thick metal. Steve used his shield to a great advantage, feeling at home with it like he’d never stopped using it. And Bucky used each gun he picked up efficiently and with great skill.

Eventually, they made it to a part of the base they’d never been to. Karpov’s office. They bust in but didn’t kill him immediately. They needed him. Bucky kept his gun trained on him while Steve stood in front of him, shield at the ready. Karpov didn’t move to withdraw his gun.

“Give us the code to the book,” Bucky said, in Russian.

“What is this?” Karpov asked.

Steve scoffed. “You sent us to kill a friend, did you think we wouldn’t remember?”

“It shouldn’t be possible!”

“Well, it is,” Bucky retorted. “The codes. Now!” He aimed his gun in a fashion that made Karpov looked scared.

Karpov tilted his head. Steve and Bucky didn’t shift or feel uneasy, but they knew what he was planning. He always used the book, though, they had a chance. “Longing,” he began.

Steve and Bucky faltered, losing coordination slightly. Bucky kept his gun aimed.

“Shoot him!” Steve yelled.

“Rusted,”

They faltered again, breathing heavily.

“Shoot!”

Bucky aimed his gun, snapping out of it and shot instinctively. Self-preservation won out against the codes in their minds. Karpov’s body went limp, blood seeped from the wound in his head. He was finally gone. All that pain and suffering they had endured due to their handlers was over, all of them were dead. There were plenty of HYDRA agents to still get rid of, however.

They walked up to wall where two guards who held the keys to their freedom stood. Steve withdrew his pistol and put his shield on his back, aiming at one man as Bucky aimed at the second. The guards put up their hands.

“What do you want?” one asked.

“Open it,” Bucky said.

Only Karpov and Pierce ever really knew the words, and at that, they needed the book at the best of times. Still, it paid to get rid of it. And these guards were their best chance at doing that. They slowly moved their hands to their pockets, bringing out their keys. Steve and Bucky knew fine well that the guards were scared of them. Every agent tended to, especially now they had no control over their minds.

They twisted the keys at once, causing the metal doors to open wide. The HYDRA insignia stared at them, like it was taunting them. One of the guards moved towards the keypad and slowly put in the numbers. The book was revealed, the guards were shot dead in an instant. As Bucky watched out for more trouble, Steve aimed at the book, shooting it multiple times before picking it up, folding it and stuffing it into his pocket. They would deal with it later.

They did a sweep of the base, finding nothing but the people they had already killed. It was a mess of blood and bodies. After they burnt all the files and evidence on them and their assassinations, they backtracked and made their way outside, taking a brief trip to the armoury, each obtaining a grenade launcher. When they walked out of the base, no one batted an eyelid until the first explosion. They got rid of the cars first, moving on to the groups of people after. Swiftly, they discarded their launchers. Steve threw his shield to take out multiple people as it bounced off their soft bodies, while Bucky began shooting at anyone who moved.

Easily, within two minutes, all that was left were three agents and blood covering the harsh snow. Steve and Bucky had taken cover, but they easily waited until their last targets decided to move. With their enhanced senses, the two noticed the near silent movement and took the opportunity to shoot down the remaining agents as they tried to run to closer cover.

Steve and Bucky got up from their cover, standing tall. They glanced to each other and smiled. Steve took out the book and threw it into one of the many fires surrounding them. (Mainly due to the exploded cars). Slowly, the marched back to their jet, not caring to look back at the corpses.

They had one last place to be.

\--

The Red Room was a truly terrifying place. Steve and Bucky knew it well. They had trained with the girls for years. They had learnt so much about them all, only to lose some along the way. They had to do this. They made a promise and they hadn’t been able to fulfil it for months. Without Allic and Blon to shield them, many more would surely be gone.

There were more mentors than Madame B. There were also plenty of guards. But Steve and Bucky had that on lock. To take down a place like this, it required stealth. They had left most of their weapons behind in the jet, even the shield. They needed to be as light as possible. Only a couple of knifes and their pistols remained on them.

Some girls were dancing, so two guards were at the side-lines of the room. This meant Steve and Bucky could sneak up on them, punching them once with the right amount of force to kill them outright. Bucky snuck into the room, finding one of the mentors in the entrance. Fortunately, it was Madame B and Natalia was in the room, dancing.

Steve watched with a smile as Bucky snapped Madame B’s neck. She fell to the ground gracefully. The girls looked on in slight horror, until they realised who stood before them. Steve came up beside Bucky. He nodded to Natalia and she stopped dancing, moving towards the two.

‘ _What do you need us to do_?’ she signed.

 _‘Get out of here. There’s a jet in the field. Kill anyone who gets in your way,_ ’ Steve signed, his stare stern.

The girls nodded and flooded out of the room. Steve and Bucky followed, making their way upstairs, to destroy the place wholeheartedly. Every mentor, every single one who brainwashed the girls and hurt them, every guard, they all died. With snapped necks or slit throats. With crushed skulls or bullets to the chest. They burnt the papers the place had on the girls. They’d be free.

Some of the girls didn’t leave. Some of them fought against the ones who wanted to escape. They fought against Steve and Bucky, and no matter how much they tried to convince them not to fight, that they were free, they kept trying to kill. All Steve and Bucky could do was kill them with as much mercy as possible.

They made their way out, to find much fewer girls by the jet than they would have liked. There were around fifty, all varying in ages. Steve and Bucky were glad to see Natalia among them. She was safe, they were all safe. Steve and Bucky hadn’t lied when they said they’d all get out. There stood fifty assassins, all trying to go against what they knew, to be free. Without brainwashing, maybe they could make their own choices again.

This was their second chance.

The girls nodded to Steve and Bucky, signing ‘ _Thank you_.’

It was the beginning of a long road, for everyone there.

\--

Steve and Bucky returned to the New York Headquarters, fifty young girls in tow. When they entered, agents turned to them, wary. Some even withdrew their guns, surely recognising the metal arm as a possible threat. And fifty girls were pretty suspicious, especially since some had the Red Room symbol on their clothes.

Steve and Bucky put up their hands, indicating with a small smile that the girls should do the same. And they did so.

“We need to speak with Director Fury,” Bucky said.

“I’m right here,” Fury said, coming into view, raising an eyebrow. He very distinctively didn’t tell the agents to lower their guns.

Steve glanced over their group. “They’re Red Room and we promised to protect them.”

“Why?” Fury asked, turning around and gesturing for the agents to lower their guns and return to work.

“Because we trained with them. They couldn’t stay there.”

Fury folded his arms. “Why bring them here?”

“None of us have anywhere to go,” Bucky said. “We’re all highly trained. We can be of use.”

“Okay. You can stay, for now.” He glanced to the girls. “Do any of you want cake? The cafeteria is full of it.”

The girls smiled and nodded. They hadn’t been allowed anything for a long time. Especially not something like cake.

\--

Steve and Bucky sat in their faux apartment’s living room. It was located in the SHIELD headquarters and, after escaping from HYDRA a week ago, was now the closest thing they had to a home. They had to be supervised, all the time. Although, there were no cameras in the apartment, no bugs. Steve and Bucky hated it. Always feeling like they were being watching, and that they could be taken at any time. They weren’t allowed outside either, in case anyone would recognise Steve. He _had_ become a pretty mysterious celebrity story for everyone.

As the story went, Steve was Captain America, a war hero. The myths about whether or not he was enhanced had stuck around. However, most thought he was actually strong, when his USO videos had been found and released sometime after he disappeared. He became a successful artist and had done around fifty works over the course of four or so years. Then, he dropped off the map and became a SHIELD agent, only to go missing in 1963.

No one knew he had actually become a greatly feared assassin, just the same as Bucky.

“I think we should talk things through,” Bucky said, from the couch. Steve was sitting in the corner, watching the door. Not that Bucky wasn’t, but he was actually sitting on a couch.

“Yeah?”

“How about we start with why you’re still acting like Blon.”

Steve levelled Bucky with a glare. “Maybe it’s because I am Blon.” He looked down. “I don’t know… It’s _confusing_.”

“Why do you like corners so much?”

“I have walls behind me and it’s easier to see.”

Bucky frowned. “Have anything to ask?”

“Do you feel like Allic, or the Soldier?”

“Yes… and no. The memories don’t help. We’re them but not? I don’t know…”

Steve sighed. “I think we are Blon and Allic, I think we’re also Steve and Bucky. We’re in-between. Assassins trying to remember what being soldiers was like. Or… blank canvases trying to remember what it’s like to be human.”

Bucky shifted on the couch, pressing himself into the arm of it, into the corner. “Yeah… We weren’t– We loved each other but didn’t see ourselves as people. We saw the _girls_ as people, but _we_ were weapons. No matter how much Natalia would try to convince us.” He sighed. “I guess in loving each other, we became more human.”

“You’ve always been my rock, Buck. Makes sense.”

Bucky kept his eyes on the floor, the warm carpet, it almost made the place homely. “Why did you never marry Carter?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “That’s going way back.”

“I want to know… You had a life after the war.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I did.” He fidgeted, like it was hard to think about. It probably was. “When I crashed the plane into the arctic, _because I had no choice, the bombs would have exploded otherwise_ , Peggy had time to think, I guess. She was months ahead of me and had… had worked out I didn’t want to be with her not with– You were gone, and she knew I was grieving, that I loved you.” He shrugged again, half-heatedly this time. “She and I just… wouldn’t have worked.”

Bucky made a small noise. “You should have been happy.”

“I was perfectly happy, to a certain extent.”

“How long did you grieve…?”

Steve sighed, fidgeting more so before saying, “I never stopped. I had so much guilt inside, survivor’s guilt and… _Shit_. I grieved right up until I saw you again. That’s why my guard dropped, why I was captured instead of saving you.”

Bucky closed his eyes. Of course Steve would feel guilt over that too. “They were always going to capture you. That must have been their plan from the start. Don’t blame yourself for what happened then. Don’t blame yourself for my fall either.”

“It’s hard not to.”

A change of subject was in order. There was a beat of silence before Bucky’s eyes lit up. “What was it like to be an artist?”

“Everyone wanted art by Captain America… Then they wanted art by Steve Rogers, and Captain America faded away. I was famous for me and my art and… Sure, I lived in a good apartment and in a small bit of isolation, but I learnt what it was like to have things. Howard helped.” Steve smiled slightly, like his old self managed to shine through. “Doing art was amazing, until I couldn’t run away from SHIELD anymore. The life became too much, and SHIELD needed someone like me.”

Bucky sighed and sunk into the couch. “You gave up your dream… for what was essentially _HYDRA_.”

“I was suspicious of Zola from the start but… there was no evidence. And then– I remember now that Zola said I’d _make_ a good HYDRA agent. I think he was waiting for me to become more of a spy than a soldier, to make it easier. When they captured me, I had the skill set.”

“That’s why you– Blon already knew so many languages.”

Steve gave a nod. “Yeah…”

Bucky wanted to keep diving into the murky past that was Steve’s life after the war. He wasn’t convinced that Steve had ever been happy, but he’d had a chance to be. “Soo… you and Stark–”

“Were friends. Good friends, who had sex, occasionally.” He pressed himself further into the corner. “I knew he had feelings for me, but I couldn’t get over you, and he was in the public eye, so he had to find dates and– It worked for what we both needed.”

Bucky nodded and sighed and fell back into the couch cushions. This whole thing was a mess. “I loved you… back then, you know? They used it against me, when I was first being tortured, before the machine. They used your fame to make me _believe_ you wilfully didn’t look for me. I didn’t listen to it until… one day I did.” He hated what he’d thought when they turned him into the Soldier. Bucky didn’t recognise himself in those memories, hell, he didn’t recognise himself now. “I thought you had moved on.”

Steve scoffed. “I wish I could’ve. Never did, though. I think that’s why I was so attached to you, as Blon. Those old feelings never went away.”

“Do you love me now?”

“Yes. Do you–”

“Yes.”

That was when a young boy walked into their room. He’d decided to bypass politeness and interrupt Steve and Bucky for whatever reason. He was also holding a bow in one hand and distinctively smelt of pizza.

Steve and Bucky hopped up from where they had been sitting. Sure, they had no weapons on them – they weren’t allowed – but this guy had a goddamn bow. Just as quickly as they had reacted, the boy had too, already having an arrow ready to shoot.

“Don’t suppose they taught you how to use one of these bad boys?” the boy wondered, lowering his bow.

“Why send a boy?” Steve asked.

The boy huffed. “First of all, I’m eighteen. Second, it’s because Fury thought I was the only one fast enough if you decided to attack, which, I am. Third, answer my question.”

“Yes,” Steve and Bucky replied, at once. They’d had a small bit of training, in their time. They only used a bow once in the field, when more stealth was required, and bullets were scarce in the wintery woods they had been in.

“Nice. That’s awesome.” The boy smiled. “I’m Hawkeye to SHIELD. Cool code name, right?”

Bucky folded his arms. “Sure. Why didn’t you knock and what’s your name?”

Hawkeye shifted. “Ah. Yes… I should have knocked. Oops.” He smiled. “I’m Clint.”

“Trusting?” Steve asked.

“Nah. I just know two broken people when I see them.” He shrugged. “Most SHIELD agents come from broken places. Guess you guys ain’t too different, even if… Never mind.” Clint leant back against a wall. He raised his eyebrows, so Steve and Bucky sat back down. Clint didn’t question why Steve was in the corner. “You’ll be glad to know; all HYDRA agents have been rounded up. Those who aren’t dead will be killed soon enough.”

“Not letting them live is a good strategy. It’s smart,” Bucky said, staring at Clint intently.

“After what they did, I’ll be glad to see them gone. I’m not gonna sympathise, I don’t know shit about any of this, not really, but I know it’s gotta be hard adjusting to this… And we can’t let you outside, for obvious reasons. But… we can let you see the girls. I tried to swing you guys time at the academy, but Fury wouldn’t listen. I’m only a level 6.”

“Level 6 at eighteen is better than I’ve ever heard of,” Steve murmured, hugging his knees to his chest again.

“Yeah… I’m the youngest level 6 there is.” Clint sighed. “Anyway, I thought I’d report to you. You deserve that much.” He gave a nod and left the room.

Bucky’s face twisted into anger. “This is just like fucking HYDRA but slightly more humane.”

“How…? We’re not being tortured…” Steve said, tone broken and lost and so goddamn sad.

He knew that, he did. They weren’t being tortured or made to forget, they hadn’t been asked to kill anyone or had words triggered in their brains. But they _were_ prisoners, and if there was anything the two had learnt over the years it’s that, no matter how nice the cell was, it’s still a cell if the door is locked.

Which theirs was.

They weren’t even allowed outside. So much for freedom.

“That’s a low bar, Blon– Steve.” It also didn’t help that Bucky naturally let Steve’s old name slip out. They weren’t Blon and Allic. They _weren’t_.

“It’s a fucking high one, really.” Even though his tone should have had a bite to it, there just wasn’t one. Steve was hollow in a different way now.

“I can never escape…” Bucky whispered. It was HYDRA when he was a POW, it was HYDRA when he was made into the Winter Soldier, now SHIELD, a good alternative to HYDRA, was still treating him like a prisoner.

“Neither can–”

“No, you don’t un–”

“I don’t _what_?” Steve sprang to his feet. _There_ was his anger. “I don’t understand? Because, Buck, I understand a whole fucking lot.” He threw his arms in the air. “I was brainwashed, tortured, had my mind stolen from me just like you!”

“You didn’t have your arm torn off and turned into a weapon! I can _never_ forget!”

“Neither can I! You wonder why I act like Blon? It’s because I’m not Steve. He’s a distant fucking memory. And you’re not Bucky! We’ve stolen their names to make ourselves feel better! We could take down everyone in this building without so much as batting an eyelid! Who the fuck are we?!” He collapsed down, heaving in breaths. “Who are we…?”

Bucky huffed and turned away. “Who you are is not my problem.”

Steve made a small noise as he pulled his knees to his chest and shivered. Bucky watched him for a moment before leaving the room. It was a nightmare they didn’t know how to get out of. They had conflicting memories of two different sets of people. It was like a war was happening inside their minds and they couldn’t do a single thing about it.

\--

Steve stayed in that corner. It was easier that way. It was safer. It made him feel in control, even if he huddled in it like a lost child. Because that’s what he was, really, a child. His brain had been reprogrammed. Even with his memories, it was hard to break out of that.

He felt so damn alone, even with Bucky right there. They’d had an argument, but it was nothing major, nothing that couldn’t be fixed. And, really, it was strange to have memories of a past life when he had been Blon for so long. It was like a version of himself had been kept away from him, only to conflict with everything he knew now that he had it back.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, reappearing in the doorway. It couldn’t have been more than an hour since he had left.

“Weap– I’m sorry too.”

“I swear, Steve… we keep slipping up because nothing’s changed. I don’t feel any more human.”

Steve gave a nod. Between Bucky calling him Blon and Steve almost falling back into ‘weapons can’t be sorry’, they had a problem on their hands. They were between two personalities. It just depended on which one they chose in the end. Steve had been Steve longer than he’d been the Asset, the opposite was true for Bucky.

It was a goddamn nightmare.

Bucky huffed out a sigh and left the room. So, Steve got up from his corner and moved from the living room, towards the front door. He could try to see how resilient it was. If he could pick the lock or kick it down or if it would magically open. He was a goddamn super soldier, he could do anything he liked.

He’d just begun investigating the lock when he heard voices outside the door. Making good use of his enhanced hearing, he listened in.

“…They’re not the past tense anymore, Peggy. They’re here, and real. Steve is– Oh, _god_ , he’s alive. Actually alive. Not dead, not missing. He’s _here_ ,” Howard said.

There was a sound, like Peggy was pulling Howard into a hug.

“I missed Steve so much… I know how you feel. But… god, all those years they suffered at the hands of HYDRA. And _Bucky_. He’s survived all that. And they’re not the people we knew, and it hurts.”

Howard let out a sob. “Do you think they’ll recover…? Become the people we knew?”

“No. I think they’re beyond that, but they’ll learn who they are, eventually. Maybe be better for it.”

“They love each other, you know? I saw it when Steve stopped Bucky from killing me.”

“There was never any doubt.” There was a sound like Peggy withdrew from the hug and patted Howard’s arm. “Do you think they want to be called Blon and Allic?”

“It depends on who they want to be, doesn’t it?”

Steve sighed and stood from his crouched position. He shouldn’t have listened in, it was a private conversation, but the more intel he could– No, that was ridiculous. He didn’t need intel, SHIELD was there to help. Peggy and Howard were outside his door. They weren’t threats, as of yet. Unless they gave a reason to be. But they were old now, in their seventies. They had lived, despite HYDRA growing from underneath them, in the shadows.

Steve and Bucky had been a part of writing that history.

He knocked on the door, indicating to his two past friends that he was there. “I overheard. I’m sorry for any hurt we caused…”

Peggy sniffled. “Oh, dear, don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault.”

There were movements towards the door. A key turned in the lock. Steve stepped back from the door. They hesitated.

“Are we allowed in?” Howard asked, broken.

“Ye–” Steve realised he was being given a choice. His captors were giving him a choice. No. Friends. Not captors. He wanted to let them in. “Yes.”

The door swung open. There stood Howard and Peggy. They were both so beautiful, despite their older age. Howard had aged well. Peggy looked significantly older, like her life had gotten to her somehow. Steve had no idea what had happened. He worried for a split second.

“It was my fault,” Steve said. “I should have escaped as Blon… I was weak. I didn’t want to forget.”

Peggy took a step forward. “Forget what…?”

Steve heaved in a breath. “Bucky…”

“Oh… God, what did they do to you?”

“They tortured us,” Bucky said, leaning on the doorway to the kitchen. “They made us into nothing. Brainwashing akin to what the Red Room did was routine. If we were good, we didn’t forget. So, we were _always_ good. Allic didn’t want to forget Blon. Blon didn’t want to forget Allic. Lots of people died if they tried to make us–” He shook his head. “Lots of people died.”

“Lots,” Steve echoed, nodding. He turned away from Peggy and sighed, putting his hand on the wall and _breathed_. “Shit. We’re unpredictable, you know? We sometimes get angry, for no reason. We sometimes act like assassins with no mind. We sometimes act like _them_.”

“Them?” Howard asked.

“Steve and Bucky.”

Bucky nodded. “They were good people, weren’t they? Our past selves… We don’t quite have _all_ our memories back.”

“You remember more of your time with HYDRA than your past,” Howard said, a statement, not a question.

Steve bowed his head. “Yeah… HYDRA is our past now. Whoever we were… I don’t know.”

Peggy stood tall. “You’ll learn. You’ll remember. You’re already getting there. Do not worry about your past, worry about who you will become next.”

“That’s fucking deep, Pegs,” Bucky said, widening his eyes at his words. “Did I just…?”

Peggy smiled. “See? You’re both still in there.”

Howard faced Bucky, walking towards him, ever so slowly. “That arm, is it good?”

Bucky glanced towards the shining metal. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s heavy.”

“Do you want a new one?”

“You… could do that?”

“Yes. My son, Tony, can help.”

“I want one that isn’t HYDRA.” Bucky gave a tight smile. “Uh, thank you.”

“We’re just trying to make your time here more comfortable,” Peggy said. “We can take you to the girls now, if you would like.”

Both Steve and Bucky’s eyes lit up. They nodded, as if they were excited children instead of highly trained assassins. The girls had always been their light at the end of a dark tunnel. It only made sense that in their time of need, the same was true now.

Peggy and Howard shared a brief look, like their enthusiasm was scary in a way. That only signs of humanity shone out when they had mentioned the girls. And somehow, that was worrying for the both of them.

Because maybe being protectors was all that had been kept inside. That maybe, some of it had been more willing than their old friends would like to admit.

\--

Peggy and Howard took the two to a room. Inside, only a few girls sat at tables. A few others sat on the floor. Some stood. Steve and Bucky scanned the room, eyes searching. The girls had lit up since the two had entered, and their smiles made the girls relax. Bucky was just about to sign something when Steve tugged on his sleeve, pointing to their favourite redhead.

Bucky beamed as he noticed who it was. “Natalia!” he shouted, waving. She’d been distracted by picking at a hole in the wall.

Natalia sparked into action and ran up to the two, gleaming. Nevertheless, she shook her head as she slowed to a stop. “I’m Natasha now. My own name.”

Steve smiled. “I’m Steve and this is Bucky.”

“Those are better names.”

“Better than nicknames of our defining features,” Bucky said, nodding once.

Blon. Blond. Allic. Metallic. It worked for assassins with no memories.

Natasha stood tall. “Thank you, for rescuing us.” She shrugged. “Many died. But you’re okay and we’re okay.”

“ _Do you trust SHIELD_?” Bucky asked, signing it.

“ _Maybe. I want to. The woman and man behind you are kind. So is the man with the eyepatch._ ” She paused. “ _Some are still HYDRA._ ”

“ _Cut off one fucking head and two more grow in its fucking place,_ ” Steve said, in the vast language of varied languages.

Natasha grimaced and said, “ _hopefully not this time._ ”

“ _Hopefully not_ ,” Bucky agreed.

Peggy cleared her throat. “We’ll leave you alone to… talk in this bizarre language of yours.”

Steve turned to face her. “Come on, you and Howard already have half of it decoded by now.”

Howard smirked, just as Peggy became less hesitant in her expression.

“We’ll still leave you alone to your… friends?” Howard said, looking over the girls in the room.

“Sisters,” Natasha remarked. “There our protectors, _brothers_.”

Peggy nodded, grabbing Howard’s elbow to pull him away. “Makes sense… Relax, all of you.”

Then the two elderly agents were gone, and Steve and Bucky were left in a room of their… yeah, sisters. They all looked up to them, for various reasons. Most still wanted to learn from them, to find out if there were ways to beat a super soldier. There definitely were, Natasha knew mostly how to. She had always been good like that. Being away from the Red Room would never change what she had learnt.

“So,” Bucky began, “who wants to play a game?”

Steve rolled his eyes and folded his arms. “This is gonna be chaos.”

Bucky didn’t take his eyes off the girls and their enormous grins and suggestions on what to play. Bucky ignored the suggestions to spar. “I’m counting on it.”

Natasha spit out a laugh. “This room is too small to spar! You idiots!” she yelled at her newfound friends.

They all sent back playfully replies.

They were only kids.

\--

Steve was on the couch, in their pokey apartment. He was almost sure that was intentional, it being small. Anyhow, he was watching a documentary. It was about art. It was about _Steve’s_ art. It was all about him and how his art changed over the short years he did it. They were also investigating whether or not a piece was Steve’s. He didn’t like what the TV was saying about him. They were getting it all wrong.

“ _What did you find out_?” the presenter asked an art expert.

“ _It’s certainly Rogers’s style. The painting itself is disjointed. It’s broken and lost. Nonetheless, even Rogers’s earliest work is not this broken._ ” The so-called expert didn’t know jack shit, according to Steve. The painting was painted with greys and blacks and dark colours. It also had silver and bits of red, bits of a sandy kind of colour. It was an abstract background, but in the front of the chaos of colours behind, were two silhouettes leaning on each other, guiding each other _somewhere_.

“ _And the paint_?”

“ _It’s post-1963, that’s all I can tell you._ ”

The presenter nodded, frowning slightly. “ _Ah. Right. That’s not good then._ ” The camera cut to some vintage pictures of Steve. He looked so innocent in them all, like he was less haunted by life. “ _Steve Rogers went missing on November 22 nd, 1963. Margaret Carter has always said Steve chased after the supposed shooter of JFK. Only, he was never to be seen again. Since the pigments are post 1960s, we can be sure this is a forgery and not a Steve Rogers._”

“It is mine.” Steve hid his face in his hands, he didn’t like the painting that much. It had been a desperation to get away from the life he was living. It was a mix of everything he had known.

“It’s yours?” Bucky asked, as he walked into the room. He’d been making himself a cup of coffee but hadn’t returned with one. “When did you–”

“Red Room. Nat snuck some paper and paints to me.”

“I never saw it…”

“I knew if they caught me… So I threw it out a window.”

Bucky nodded. “And this guy found it. Wow. He’s got a Steve Rogers.”

Steve raised his head from his hands, looking to Bucky earnestly. “I miss it.”

“Draw. We’ve got nothing better to do.”

That was certainly true. It had been a month since they’d escaped and so far, SHIELD hadn’t let them free from their prison. Still unsure on what to do with two assassins like them, perhaps. It wasn’t like they were easy to put into a box and give them some purpose. No one could guess if they’d go off the rails or not.

And they still hadn’t had a full debrief about their time with… HYDRA.

“I don’t… know how.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Get a pencil and paper. Prove yourself wrong.”

“Bucky…”

“Yeah?”

“How are you adjusting?”

“Not well.”

Steve frowned. “I feel less like Blon.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s eyes lit up. “That’s good.”

“How about you?”

“I’m getting there.”

Bucky came and sat on the couch, next to Steve. He watched him with careful eyes. Steve felt vulnerable, but he didn’t need to, this was _Bucky_. They had been through so much together, understood the pain of having everything you knew taken from you. They were traumatised, likely had many things wrong now that they were free.

But in most ways, they were free.

Steve leant his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and without hesitation, Bucky wrapped his arms around him. It was tender and gentle, like they always aimed to be with each other. They got to have gentle, they really did, especially now. Especially now.

“We’ll get there,” Steve reassured.

That was when Agent Coulson came to get them.

\--

Sitting in a chair opposite this Coulson was a bit daunting. Steve had almost gotten used to being locked in the fake apartment, but somehow, the interrogation room was far, far worse. It was time to be judged and perhaps, it was time for their freedom to be taken away again. Maybe they weren’t useful.

“Don’t worry. I just need to know what happened to you,” Coulson said, shuffling some papers.

Steve huffed out a small laugh. “Where would you like to start?”

“1963.”

“JFK… He died from the first shot, didn’t he?”

Coulson nodded.

“I saw the shooter in the window. Well… a glint from a window. So, I ran. And I ran into the path of the shooter. He’d left his gun behind. We fought. He had a mask. I tore it off. It was Bucky. He… didn’t know his name. He didn’t recognise me. We were shot with darts. I woke up. Zola. Chair.” Steve blinked down at the table, shaking his head. He touched his temples, moving his fingers upwards so that his skin moved too. It hurt, partly, an ache in his head.

Coulson got up from his chair and crouched by Steve. “Hey, it’s okay if you don’t remember.”

He breathed deeply. “I forgot…”

“That’s oka–”

“No. That’s what happened next. I forgot. They wiped my memories away from me. I couldn’t access them, didn’t know how. I was the Asset, until they let the Soldier befriend me. Then I was Blon.”

Coulson sat back down, watching as Steve calmed himself. He smiled, lightly. “Did Blon know anything of his past?”

Steve shook his head. Of course Blon didn’t, Blon didn’t know how to be human after all.

“Why didn’t you break free?”

“They used words to control us… To make us more like weapons. If we were good, me and Bucky got to speak through the vents in our rooms. Blon and Allic were too human, the words made us better. We were always weapons though. Weapons first.” Steve stared at the metal table. Everything was so cold in SHIELD, the same coldness of HYDRA.

“And if you weren’t good?”

“We forgot. It didn’t happen often but I– I couldn’t forget my friend. I _couldn’t_.” He shook his head, slowly, as if he was shaking his head at himself. “People died so I could remember.”

Coulson nodded. “Bucky was your last bit of humanity, it’s natural not to let that go.”

“What else do you need to know?”

\--

“The Soldier was lonely before the Asset came along. We worked badly together, until HYDRA let us become friendly. They would wipe us after, until they realised we would never remember Steve and Bucky… Not until… Howard Stark.”

Coulson gave Bucky an uneasy stare. “Why Stark, of all people? The Winter Soldiers never wavered in the past.”

“We did, once. Our first mission after we became friends,” Bucky said. He glanced upwards, at the ceiling, recalling one of the worst missions. “Our target… was a child. We couldn’t– We forgot afterwards.”

“Why Stark?”

“He knew us. What Howard said triggered our memories. And because HYDRA stopped wiping us… we could remember more easily. Remember who we were.”

Coulson nodded. “What about your first handler, Zola?”

\--

Steve shifted in his seat. “HYDRA agents died when they tried to do anything to us… I think Zola must have gone to drastic measures to ensure his weapons were perfect.”

“I read your report, on your suspicions about Zola. You saw Barnes in 1950, years before he first became active.”

“Yeah… well… I know that now. I knew that in my last moments of being Steve, before I was wiped.” He sighed. “I should have done more, killed Zola regardless, but he was rebuilding HYDRA, there were always going to be people who could take over.”

“You regret not killing him?”

“I don’t know. I wanted to kill every last HYDRA agent after I thought Bucky died. Now, I want to make sure HYDRA can never come back.”

“What if it does?”

\--

Bucky shrugged. “I won’t let it fester. It can’t. HYDRA are powerful when active. They likely have people outside SHIELD. Are you sure you got them all?”

Coulson looked towards the door. The outside. “We’re rounding all suspects up.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to have to go out there and kill them all.”

“Probably best.” He stood. “I’ll take you back to your room. We’ll know what we’re doing with you both soon enough.”

Bucky felt like he wanted to thank Coulson. He’d been understanding and sympathetic. Maybe Steve and Bucky had a chance to get out of their prison cell. Maybe they’d be there forever. Who knew?

\--

“Congratulations!” Clint boomed, appearing in their living room.

Steve and Bucky paid no mind to him, he’d been doing it a lot lately and they had gotten used to people walking in when they liked.

“Ugh, at least pretend to care.”

Bucky glanced over the couch and smiled at Clint. “Why’re you so happy?”

“Because you two get to go to the academy!” He smiled. “The nice one too. It’s got these cool outside bits and you don’t have to worry about the public! It’s gonna be great for you two.”

Steve pursed his lips. “If we’re being relocated, are the girls finding new homes too?”

“Some of the girls have been housed by agents, others have been sent to various academies. Natasha is adamant that she’ll go to the same one as yours.”

“Of course she is.” Steve shook his head lightly, amused. “When are we leaving?”

Clint shrugged. “Whenever you like. But, as a warning, SHIELD will probably want you to do assassinations. Like me, I guess. They’ll want you killing, is that what you want?”

Bucky glanced to Steve. What else was new? “We’ve been killing people since the war, I guess adding more to the list isn’t gonna make a difference.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah. I was a SHIELD agent before and even _I_ turned from a soldier, to a spy, to something closer to an assassin.”

“That’s bleak…” Clint whispered. “If you need to get out, I’ll get you out and safe.”

“You’d do that?” Bucky asked, staring at Clint like he’d grown another head.

“SHIELD doesn’t always make the right call. So, yeah, I’d get you out if you need to.”

“Thanks, Clint.”

He nodded to them and headed out.

At least, if things got rough, they had a chance of actual freedom. Who was truly going to remember someone like Steve, or someone like Bucky? They had more of a chance adjusting outside, than in a place where they’d be doing the same things but of their own free will. They had just switched sides, were only going to be seen as good because they would be killing the ‘bad’ people. Truly, what did any of it change?

They would still be fighting battles for other people. People with agendas. While SHIELD was supposed to be different for HYDRA, they still craved control. Instead of inciting order via fear, they did it via respect. Not entirely the same, not too different either.

For the time being, however, being able to go outside really boosted morale for Steve and Bucky. That was all they needed. It gave them more of a chance to heal and remember. Become the people who they wanted to be, now they had a choice.

Natasha helped, she was a special light among her own darkness.

Clint helped too, since he was young and cared.

Even Coulson and Fury seemed to want to help, even if they kept a close eye on them at all times. (Steve and Bucky were convinced something was up with Coulson, he seemed to light up whenever he saw them both. Steve said his fans used to do it, way back in the ‘40s).

All in all, despite all the horrors, there was something hopeful in the future.


	4. New Generation

A knife collided into a board behind Steve. He didn’t flinch as the sharp weapon imbedded itself just inches away from his head. He smiled and stepped away, pulling the knife out and twirling it in his hand. He tossed it from hand to hand, keeping a rhythm while doing it. Till he threw it up, it spinning in the air before its handle connected with Steve’s palm, making it seem final. He didn’t throw it again.

“So, that’s how you control a knife,” he said. “Not just any knife. A well balanced, weighted, throwing knife. This is an important skill if you need range when an enemy is escaping. Although, if you’re undercover, always aim for the clothes to pin them, if you can.”

Bucky walked up to him and plucked the knife out of Steve’s hand. He twirled it along his left fingers. His arm was still made from some kind of metal but looked like any other arm. “You see, knives are sharp and dangerous. Any knife is good when melee is all you have. So, grab a knife from the table and aim for the boards, but, _please_ don’t aim them at each other. I’m not having a repeat of ‘98.” He swiftly placed the knife back at his belt.

From the benches some students had been sitting at, one stuck up their hand. The rest all piled up to the knives and took to the various boards in the room. They were thick enough so that knife could get solidly stuck in the material of it. There were lines on the ground, so the students could practice at varied distances.

“Yes, Ward?” Bucky asked, shaking his head at Ward putting his hand up. Grant Ward was a bit like that, for some reason. Like his mind had never had a chance to grow up, not properly anyway.

“What if you don’t have a weighted knife?”

“Then don’t throw it and keep to using it at close combat.” Bucky folded his arms. “Come on, get up and practice.”

Ward nodded and jumped up from his seat, picking up one of the knives and walking over to a spare board. He threw his knife and while it landed in the board, it was a bit off to the side. Most of the students had training in various areas, but knife throwing had been a lacking skill lately and Steve and Bucky aimed to change that. It was always best to have all the possible training you could have.

Steve clapped a couple times to get everyone’s attention. “We aren’t training for nothing here. Practice makes perfect. First one to hit the centre of the board wins!”

That sparked every student’s interest, even though they didn’t know if a prize was involved. There wasn’t, but it was an incentive all the same. Training like this could be boring. Spicing it up was needed when you couldn’t train with another person. But Bucky really hadn’t been kidding when he said he didn’t want a repeat of ’98. There was a reason their class was largely feared by students at the academy.

A pleasant surprise was when the best student Steve and Bucky had ever heard of managed to hit dead centre without even realising. To be honest, he wasn’t even supposed to be in their class. He was just visiting a friend and decided to join them in this training. He actually focused more on science than trying to be a field agent. They only let him in because when the Saint was in the building, especially with out the Sinner, there was no point not to let him learn what he wanted to learn.

“Well… Mackenzie, you certainly know how to take notes,” Bucky said, appearing by Mackenzie. He turned to the other students. “You see, it’s all in the practice. Don’t give up just because the Saint puts you all to shame!”

“Oh, god.” Mackenzie put his head in his hands. “Why do you know that?”

Steve gave out a laugh. “Didn’t you know all the teachers get the best gossip?”

He sighed. “I don’t expect it from teachers I don’t know.”

Bucky patted Mackenzie on the back. “You should know, we’re good friends with Romanoff.”

“Ah. Well, it makes sense now.”

Both Steve and Bucky laughed and left Mackenzie to his own devices. They sat on the benches as they watched their students try and fail. They shouted out pointers but did no more than that. They’d given all the advice they could. As five minutes passed on, the two got out their lunch and began eating, keeping a close eye on everyone. Again, they didn’t want the event of 1998 to repeat.

For Steve and Bucky, it had been around nine years since they had broken free from HYDRA. It hadn’t made any obvious come back and no one had ever come for the two, so, they counted it as one of their many victories. Over the years, they had been many things in SHIELD. They had carried out assassinations, only to decide to be in a strike team for a couple years. They got away from almost all combat when they took up undercover operations. Only to then become trainers at the academy.

They enjoyed that the most. The next set of agents mattered, and the two had become very good at picking out the promising ones and reporting to Coulson. He often had leeway to guide an agent in the right direction. After all, he’d done it for Steve and Bucky. Why not everyone?

And Natasha was still at the academy, had been for many years. She was only sixteen but had gained a reputation for being fierce and spreading the appropriate gossip. Mainly, she was Steve and Bucky’s informant. It paid to know everything they could about the students in all the academies. You couldn’t go wrong with that, in their opinion.

When their students got tired, Bucky stood. “Alright! That does it for today. Tomorrow, we’ll be concentrating on math equations.” The students groaned. “Hey, if your automatic shit breaks, you’ll thank me.” Steve nudged him, pointing to the door. Fury was there. “Now scram.”

Their students nodded, grabbed their bags and ran off, heading to their next class or whatever they had do. They always let their students go early, their classes were intense after all. They didn’t fail to notice the Sinner waiting for the Saint. Fury glared at the two students before entering the room, glancing around.

“You really like training them hard.”

Steve shrugged. “They’re SHIELD agents. They didn’t sign up for us to take it easy on them.”

“Doesn’t mean we don’t care, though. We make sure they never get tired or stressed,” Bucky said.

Fury gave a nod. “Yeah, I did notice you let them go early.”

“Treat people how you want to be treated,” the two said, at once. They always hoped for better shifts. Fury scoffed and took a file out of his coat.

“We need you on a mission.”

Steve and Bucky levelled him with a stern glare. They hadn’t done a mission for three or so years, for a damn reason.

“Well, you can find someone else. Hawkeye maybe. Anyone but us,” Bucky remarked, not letting up on his glare.

Fury pushed the file onto Bucky’s chest. “It’s your department.”

Steve turned around, brushing a hand through his hair. “Oh great, it’s a fucking hit.”

“It’s not. Not exactly. It might be HYRDA.”

“I thought–”

“Read the file.”

Bucky batted Fury’s hand away, watching as he kept a firm grip on the file, instead of fighting against him. “No. We’re not doing it. We’re in a better place now. Don’t take that away from us.”

“You will follow orders.”

“You promised us… You goddamn promised us!” Before Bucky could argue anymore, a low-quality version of All Star blasted out. He turned away from Fury, pulling out his phone and answering in an instant. “Tony.”

“Oh, come on, you love that song!” Tony said, there was some strange background noise.

“Is that why you called?”

“No. I wanted–” There was a loud bang, then a small explosion. “Can you come down? Dad’s away and–” Another explosion. “SHIT!”

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Bucky – almost – yelled. Tony was a loose cannon, he was sure.

“Nothing!”

Steve zipped up his jacket. “Sorry, Fury. Tony needs our help.”

Fury rolled his eyes and walked out of the room. Steve and Bucky felt they had been saved by the bell.

When they got to the underground lab Tony spent so much of his time in, there was rubble in places and a strange dust lingering in the air. Tony sat on a clean metal table, sipping at some coffee. He looked particular calm, if not slightly terrified by what was around in. There were burn marks on the concrete floor.

Bucky clapped his hands together. “So! What did you do?”

Tony shifted uncomfortably. “You won’t understand the science.”

“I have a degree in engineering, hit me with your best shot.”

“I messed with a small metal box and–”

Steve widened his eyes. “Was it titanium? With a red and blue symbol on top?”

“Yeah…”

“Goddammit, Anthony. An organisation aimed to use that box to level New York in the ‘50s.”

“Oh shit.”

“Shit, indeed,” Howard said, stepping into the room. He picked up a bit of rubble and shook his head.

Tony very nearly dropped his cup of coffee. “Wait, why–”

“We called him because you’re _supposed_ to be working,” Bucky said, folding his arms.

“You’re on his side?”

“Who said we were the cool family friends?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I gave myself a day off. Stark Industries is stressful when you concentrate more on energy than weapons.”

“I’m glad I retired!” Howard laughed. “Come on, Tony, let’s clean up this mess.”

Tony hopped off the table, setting his coffee down. He straight up matched over to Howard and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’re eighty-three and going back upstairs. I’ll clean up the mess.”

Steve smiled at Howard’s bemused expression. “He’s right, Howard. We’ll help clean up the mess. It’ll help keep us away from Fury.”

As Tony went off to go clean up, Howard looked particularly concerned as he spared Steve and Bucky a glance. He sat at one of the intact chairs while the two hovered by him.

“Why now?”

“He wants us on a mission.”

“Ah. Do what’s best for you.”

Bucky nodded. “We’re trainers, teachers even. What we were before… We don’t wanna go back to that.”

Howard sighed. “You did, for years.”

“We got a taste of normal, we’re not letting that go easily.”

Agreeing with this notion, Howard nodded, smiled at them and made his way upstairs. Tony had dragged out a metal cart and was already pilling rubble into it. Steve and Bucky, gladly, helped out. Hefting the heavier bits effortlessly. Especially with Bucky’s prosthetic arm. Tony glanced over every so often, smiling smugly at the thing. After all, it was his design, his invention. Howard had given him the responsibility of making the thing way back in 1992. Tony had been adding gadgets to it ever since, especially when any new technology developed.

Bucky was quite happy with it. He liked to forget that it was really metal underneath.

“You’re staying for dinner,” Tony said as he swiped sweat off his brow. “No arguments. I can smell my mom’s cooking from here.”

Steve grinned. “We’d never pass up an offer for Maria’s food.”

They really didn’t. It was always a blessing to get a taste of what Maria liked to cook. And it always came with music, as she tended to play the piano when the food was in the oven or bubbling away on the stove.

And they loved spending time with their friends. Or family even. Steve and Bucky had – more than once – given support to Tony and helped him whenever he needed it. He occasionally called them uncles, as a joke mainly, but it was beginning to stick, strangely. Steve and Bucky certainly didn’t disappoint on the ‘strange, mysterious but cool uncles’ front.

The two were also like that with Peggy’s children and with the children of the Howlies. They could never catch up on the years they lost, but their old friends took them back in like they’d never left, and they made for a good story. They never touched on their years with HYDRA, but war time stories were almost less traumatic. The remaining Howlies, Gabe and Jim, always made sure to invite Steve and Bucky to family functions. They had lost their friends in a set of horrifying circumstances, they weren’t letting them go easily.

It was a shame Steve and Bucky only got a few years with Monty before he had died. Both Dum Dum and Dernier had died only a few – a _few_ – years before Steve and Bucky came back to themselves.

They still had most of their friends, for however long they had left. It was blessing to even have them at all.

\--

“Nat! We’re home!” Steve called as he and Bucky walked into their apartment, after the rubble clean up. Their apartment was a lovely thing and not too far from the academy. The living room was the first room you were greeted with, large and spacious. While everything else was locked away by doors.

“I wasn’t worried!” Nat shouted from the kitchen. The closest and always most feared door, for reasons the two knew they were going to see in that very moment.

Steve and Bucky glanced at each other, sighed, and went into the kitchen. They found five different trays of cookies. There was a sixth in the oven. Nat was currently mixing some icing. She looked to the two and stopped what she was doing, going over to the oven to pull the last cookies out.

“Stress baking again?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. I used all the baking supplies.”

“We’ll get more. Sorry, we should have called.”

Nat shook her head. “It wasn’t about that. It was about the mission.” She guided them to the living room where papers were laid out on the floor. “It’s an army camp in New Jersey. Four people went missing. When found, all they talked about was how the world needs order, and how two heads always exist. They only returned to normal when their jail cells dropped below 59 degrees Fahrenheit. It was only by chance; the station is badly funded.”

Steve gave Bucky a worried look. This was bad and they both knew it.

“It’s HYDRA,” Steve said, a small bit of panic in his tone.

Nat stared at the papers. “Someone brainwashed them.”

“How? All of HYDRA’s brainwashing techniques have been lost. Especially ours.”

Bucky looked to Nat. “Did you ever find out what happened to Zola?”

“It’s not–” Steve began, cutting himself off. It couldn’t be. Zola was long dead, surely. Then again… “He was the only member of HYDRA that knew the technique like the back of his hand, I guess. No one else but Pierce and Karpov knew.” In his distress, Steve stepped away from the papers, gaining some distance. “It can’t be him, it _can’t_.”

Bucky brushed a hand through his hair. He shook his head and grabbed a piece of paper, the one which told them the exact location. “We could go look? Gather some intel and get the fuck out? Maybe take a horde of grenades with us?”

“I’d feel safer if we had grenades.” Steve looked over Bucky’s shoulder, reading the address. “Oh… I trained at that camp.”

“Why there…?” Nat wondered. “Why of all the– Oh, of course. Colonel Phillips. Would make sense if they made a base where it all started, right?”

Making a decision, Steve got out his phone. “I guess we should… call Fury and get this over with.”

Bucky threw the paper down, breathing deeply. “I guess.”

\--

Before long, Steve and Bucky were in a car, driving to their destination. Clint was in the back, messing with his bow. He had stayed strangely silent during the journey, like he was gearing himself up or something. The two knew some agents did that from time to time. Some had to do it to leave their morals behind and truly become nothing more than an agent. For Steve and Bucky, it wasn’t hard to leave morals behind, they had done plenty of shit for SHIELD, for HYDRA, had done plenty worse in the war.

“We’re approaching,” Bucky announced as he turned the car into a country road that was more dirt than road.

“Whatever we find in there…” Steve began, turning to Clint, “if you hear Russian words like one, longing or benign, kill us.”

Clint stilled, slowly looking to Steve. “Oh, no, absolutely not. No.”

“I’m not kidding, there are ten words that can make me and Bucky into blank slates. Say the right words and you can control us, easily.”

“Then…” Clint gripped his bow tightly, “I will not let that happen. Nat would kill me so fast if anything happened to you both. I won’t– I won’t leave her alone.”

Bucky slowed the car down, as he did so, he scoffed. “Nat would always have you.”

“I will _never_ kill you. I _would_ kill whoever says those words.”

At that, Steve and Bucky sighed and nodded. Maybe they couldn’t persuade Clint to kill them, but they knew he definitely had their back. The car came to a stop just outside the camp. The day was just creeping into the evening, but it didn’t make the place any less scary. It was abandoned and forgotten. The buildings were a little worse for wear. Nobody had been working there for a long time.

Once inside, it took Steve and Bucky all of two seconds to realise what was out of place. A building to store ammunition, within five hundred yards of the barracks? Yeah, that was definitely wrong. And clearly meant for the right eyes to see.

Clint used one of his fancy arrows to bust the lock, Steve and Bucky kept their grenade launches very close to them. They had other weapons with them but were mostly prepared to blast whatever they found there.

Down the steps only confirmed what they thought. It had been a SHIELD base, a very long time ago. The furniture was ancient, the lights were poor, and the dust lay thickly against every surface. Clint had his bow drawn, ready and waiting. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a rat scuttle along the ground. Steve and Bucky glanced to him, to which Clint shrugged. It _was_ eerie.

They made their way into what looked like a storage unit, maybe for reports and evidence. Three pictures hung on the wall, crooked, dusty, old and forgotten. Whoever came down here didn’t investigate the area too much.

What did surprise them was the cold air blowing through one of the shelves. Clint furrowed his brow, looking to Steve and Bucky. He stepped aside, bow drawn, while Bucky pulled the thing back. Strangely, it moved, and revealed an elevator. There was a broken code panel at the side, which gave the vague idea that the people who came down here didn’t know what they were doing.

To their surprise, the elevator still worked, despite everything. It was fairly modern, for a place so abandoned. As they made it down to the only other level there was, Steve and Bucky raised their grenade launches, standing in front of Clint. Ready.

When the doors opened, the whirring servers were a shock and the least they had expected. The green face on the old technology, glitched and clicked. Clint moved forward first, aiming his bow at the screen. Steve and Bucky aimed for the servers.

“Now, wait a second, _soldiers_ ,” the screen crackled with a voice, so familiar, so damn terrifying.

Clint glanced to Steve and Bucky, in clear shock. This was what they had feared but not what had been expected.

“Zola,” Steve spat, keeping his launcher aimed, but looking to Zola.

“I never expected to draw you out. But I am glad to have my soldier and asset back.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Clint boomed, heading to what seemed to be the control panel.

“Barton, Clint. Born 1973.”

“Very clever.” Clint stepped back, changing his aim to the camera above the monitor. “What do you want?”

“HYDRA must be reborn. The Soldier and the Asset will help, indeed.”

Before Zola could utter another syllable, Steve and Bucky shot at the servers. They were _not_ going back to being Zola’s brainwashed assassins. That was the last thing they were ever going back to. Clint shot at the camera, then the screen, and grabbed a couple of arrows set to explode on impact. The three backed up into the elevator as they lit the place alight. Zola’s voice crackled but it was too disjointed to even make a word. When the elevator doors closed, there was fire and continuous explosions all around.

Clint looked to Steve and Bucky, sighing in relief. “We are getting ten pizzas when we get back. _Ten_.”

\--

Nat didn’t leave Steve and Bucky’s side for a week when they got back. When they told her about the mission, she physically shook and went pale. She couldn’t believe they managed to work up the courage to destroy Zola before he had a chance to talk. Steve and Bucky were curious people, more so when it came to their time with HYDRA. Anything that could give them a _why_ was helpful. Zola could have given them that, but if they had waited any longer, who knew what could have happened.

Suffice it to say, Fury didn’t come back with more missions. He did congratulate them, saying HYDRA was truly over. Steve and Bucky, even Nat, were not convinced, but for now, it was enough.

Clint also stayed by their side, having been affected by what had happened. It was good to know Clint really did have their back to a point where he would defend them outright. Then again, he’d always said he would get the two out and away from SHIELD if they ever needed it. But going on the run from something that was actually good for them wasn’t ideal.

Because in a roundabout way, it was good for them. Training people, being kind and in social contact every day. Looking after Nat and being friends with Clint. Even having a couple drinks with Coulson every other week was more than alright. And the time they had settled in, the nineties and now, the two thousands, it allowed them to be more of who they were, without being fearful.

Steve didn’t have to hide a part of himself off. Neither did Bucky. Howard was out, in fact. Peggy too. Even their students often confided in them when homophobia was getting a little too much, because even though it was better, it wasn’t good enough yet. And in the SHIELD academy with young people all around, searching for who they wanted to be, Steve and Bucky were friendly trusted faces who they could go to and vent. They occasionally had coffee mornings in their ‘classroom’ for the kids who just needed someone who was like them to be there. Sometimes Tony turned up as it all got a bit much for him sometimes.

It was good.

Plus, Steve and Bucky were well known for being an iconic couple in SHIELD. From the students to the higher ups, everyone knew. It was what made couples being the field more acceptable, because of how well they tended to work together.

Things had changed over the years, and they continued to change as the years went on. Mackenzie was quickly transferred to Iliad in the mid-2000s, where his skills as an engineer were more appreciated. Ward soon became a celebrated agent, to such an extent that Melinda May, a sheer legend, took notice and trained him up in his spare time. People were convinced _something_ was going on there. Others thought the age gap was too big.

Natasha was officially out in the field, doing better than anyone would have ever imagined. Maria Hill had risen up the ranks quickly, though nobody was surprised because of how badass she was. Especially since she seemingly came out of nowhere just to wreck anyone that came before her. A true legend.

Clint, on the other hand, had apparently fallen out with Coulson, to which no one understood how that happened. It seemed to be because of something that went on in Clint’s apartment. Steve and Bucky had done their research because their friend had been hurt and they didn’t understand why. All that turned up was that Coulson arrived at night and didn’t leave till morning. To which the two had decided that Clint and Coulson _hadn’t_ fallen out and their ‘argument’ was more of a cover. They couldn’t be sure, but further snooping had revealed Coulson had returned to Clint’s apartment.

Anyhow, in the good ol’ year of 2012, everything seemed mighty fine with everyone. Steve and Bucky’s students were amazing, their past students were doing well (despite things happening to them along the way) and Nat was the best version of herself. Even Tony, honest to god, _Tony_ was doing perfectly fine. Sure, he had become Iron Man due to a certain set of circumstances nobody could have predicted (let alone his wife, Pepper). But he was a good man who had become more of a hero than a soldier, or a spy, or an engineer. Or a CEO. It was good, he was the best version of himself that way.

Stark Industries was a good company that worked for the people. And with sustainable energy being all around, due to Tony’s tech, Steve and Bucky managed to persuade Fury to never _ever_ look for the tesseract. It still lay at the bottom of the ocean, where it would stay because its destructive qualities did not bode well for an energy source.

Of course, along the years they had lost some friends. Howard had withered away, leaving Maria, only for her to die a little while after, in the year of 2010. Peggy was still holding on, but her mind had given up years back. And the Howlies were all dead. Too old to survive the years to come.

Steve and Bucky were watching their past slide through their fingers, unable to stop it. At least, Nat, Clint and Tony were their future. Their family. Tony with his brilliant ideas and Pepper, who was unbelievably talented at everything she set out to do. Clint with his one of a kind archery skills and clear secret relationship. Nat with her future so bright, able to be whoever she wanted to be, whether that was her real self or an undercover one.

Steve and Bucky with their healed minds, their class and their still new rings around their fingers.

Their students loved to tease them on how married they were.

Unfortunately, the years of peace for the two swiftly came to an end in May.

It was supposed to be a relaxing lunch with Nat, while she had the day off. She had only recently finished a mission, which she was telling Steve and Bucky about while having spoonfuls of her soup. They had all chosen the same meal, the soup of the day.

“Ugh, and then I was tied up in a chair but, you know what? All those things you taught me, they really came in use yet again.” She smiled and turned back to her soup.

Steve laughed. “Sounds like a good one. Did you mean to get caught?”

“Nope. But it’s always more fun when they think they’ve got you.”

Bucky shook his head at Nat. “You always make us proud. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, well… yeah.” She smiled again, though, she spared a glance to the knife on the table. They were in the SHIELD cafeteria, weapons on the table were allowed. “Wish I didn’t have to sleep with one eye open.”

“It’s been twelve years since Steve and I were in the field and we still have our weapons by us.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, stirring his spoon idly in his soup. “We’re SHIELD agents, everyone is a target.”

Nat picked up the knife, looking at it carefully, turning it over in her hand. “Who would you be if you hadn’t escaped?”

Bucky shrugged. “Steve and I would still be under HYDRA’s control. SHIELD would be compromised. Chaos would surround us.”

“HYDRA funded terrorist attacks and caused wars, they were that powerful. Think how the world would be if they still existed in the same way. They were behind a lot of the world’s problems,” Steve said, eyes downcast.

“I’d be working for Russia, I think. I’m glad I’m SHIELD.” She frowned. “Why did you come to SHIELD, back in 1991? Why turn us over to them?”

“We were lost and confused and had no place to go,” Steve said. He looked to Bucky, who smiled faintly at him. “Maybe we did the wrong thing but… not all of the girls are SHIELD agents.”

“Yeah, some of us got out forever. I–” Nat was cut off by her phone ringing, in fact, the whole of the cafeteria started ringing. The agents around turned to their phones, some had gotten texts, others had gotten calls.

Nat had gotten a call.

“Coulson? Yeah I’m with them.” Nat’s brow furrowed. “The Arctic ocean? Shit… The big guy, you mean? Ah. Coulson? Wish me luck. Yeah, bye.”

Nat slowly put down her phone, glancing to Steve and Bucky’s confused expressions. They didn’t press her, they gave her time. She looked ready to burst into action.

“You two are needed on the helicarrier. I’m needed in India to get Banner. You’ll be working with Tony… Uh… Shit is bad.” Nat closed her eyes. “Come on, we need to get moving.”

Within a second, the cafeteria was empty.

The Avengers were formed that day, purely because Coulson wouldn’t shut up about it. And after he got badly wounded, everyone was spurred into action. (Even if Clint didn’t want to leave his side).

A man of iron. A green behemoth. One arrow guy, with eyes like a hawk. One badass redhead, known for her fighting style. A lightening god. A man with a shield. A man with a metal arm. It made for a skilful setup.

Steve and Bucky were seen as ordinary agents, until the news captured their faces in one shot. Maybe using the SHIELD shield hadn’t been smart. Maybe having Bucky changing to his robust dark blue metal arm hadn’t been a good idea. Nevertheless, the news was all over the fact that ‘the guy with the shield’ looked like famous artist Steve Rogers. And they were just as fierce with ‘the man with the metal arm’ who looked like Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

A week later, SHIELD announced that Bucky Barnes was indeed dead, had been since 1945. And Steve Rogers? Well he was just missing. Had been for forty-nine years. Only agents of SHIELD knew the truth. Knew they were alive more than they knew what happened. Very few knew all the details behind what had happened to the two, way back when.

It was almost like a distant memory now. It had been twenty years since they broke free, after all.

But the news was relentless, with their theories. Websites popped up dedicated to this ‘conspiracy’. People wanted to know why a guy looked so much like Captain America/Steve Rogers, to the point where he even had the same imperfections. People should have forgotten, but with the mystery surrounding the two in their history, it was hard for people to let go once they had latched on to their theories. Was it a conspiracy if it was true?

On the advice of Pepper, a press conference would be the only way to diffuse the situation. The theories were only getting worse a month on. Maybe it was the time for the truth, if Steve or Bucky ever wanted to go outside again. The years they were confined to missions and staying inside SHIELD quarters were the worst. Going back to that wasn’t an option.

With Fury’s go ahead, suddenly, Steve and Bucky were sitting at a table facing a sea of reporters. Tony sat with them, as a means of support. They would definitely need a lot of it, neither of them had been in this kind of spotlight for decades.

The first question dove straight into the matter.

“Is it true that you’re both just SHIELD agents that look similar to the famous Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes?”

Steve blew out a breath, Bucky looked to him reassuringly. “Both of us have been through a tough set of circumstances. When we got out the other side, SHIELD was there. What they told you was to protect us both, because Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes should be dead, but we’re not. Because I’m Steve and Bucky is sitting right beside me.”

The room sparked into multiple voices shouting out. _How are you so young? What happened to you? Did you never look for Barnes’s body? Does this mean you both have abilities?_

All people with different agendas, writing different stories, asking the difficult questions.

Tony stood. “What happened to Rogers and Barnes is classified, so is anything about their abilities and why they appear to be young.” He sat back down and glanced to the two, gesturing for them to go ahead and answer any reasonable question that came up.

One reporter jumped up and said, “When you went MIA in 1945, Barnes, what happened?”

Bucky looked to Tony, who nodded. This question was allowed. “I fell off a train. The side had been blasted off and I fell. I survived, of course, with my left arm torn off.” He shook his head. “Soviet soldiers found me, and I was taken away. All of a sudden, I was recovering in a base. The next time I woke, I was a prisoner.”

“The Soviets took you prisoner?”

“No, HYDRA did.”

“And after they collapsed?”

Again, Bucky looked to Tony. He shook his head this time. “I can’t say.”

“Rogers! Why did you never look for Barnes?”

Steve sighed. “After Bucky fell, everything was fast paced. I was in a daze, in an ocean of grief. By the time I was recovering in hospital, after I crashed the plane, they had already looked, the SSR. They found nothing.”

“And so you became an artist instead of returning to war? Why?”

“Because I wasn’t fit to go back. Drawing was all I had left. I didn’t live a good life.”

A reporter seemed confused by this. “You were rich and famous, what made it less than good?”

“I didn’t have my best friend to share it with.”

“You were that dedicated?”

Steve wrung his hands. Bucky placed his hand on Steve’s back, rubbing soothing circles. “Yes, I was. Because losing Bucky destroyed me.”

Tony stood again, inching towards Steve and Bucky. “I think we need to give our two agents a rest, don’t you? Thank you for the questions.” He guided Steve and Bucky out, allowing them air and space before he made get a move on, to get back to the academy.

Within two hours, Steve and Bucky were back in the classroom doing what they always did best, teaching the future agents. Today the class was focused on how to dodge weapons of a more… alien origin. Their fresh batch of students, including one called Skye (a mystery women, really, but Coulson had found her some place and had brought her in), were interesting people, who really loved a good class and never complained about the subjects being boring.

Bucky was throwing some sticks at Steve that had been carved and shaped in a way that allowed for them to travel as fast as a bullet without the consequences. The metal arm helped with the speed they needed. Steve dodged by doing flips and sliding along the ground. Even jumping to the sides allowed for enough time to escape.

“Some of it,” Steve began, regaining his breath, “relies on predicting an attack before the person makes it. Seeing even the slightest twitch of a muscle when you know the weapon is quick is a good reason to dodge. Flips and twists will normally get you out of it, but I recommend a slide if you’re a little late on the cues.”

Bucky turned to the students and threw one of the sticks at them. The students scattered on the benches, leaving a gap for the stick to move through, bouncing off the wall. “Always keep your eye sharp when fighting. If you’re surrounded by enemies, you need your head on a swivel. Your eyes need to be repeatedly darting to each location you’re focused on. It is imperative with threats like the Chitauri that you know how to defend yourself and prevent injury. Their weapons are powerful enough to knock both Steve and me down. It could cripple any of you.”

Steve clapped his hands. “So! Grab a partner, choose who will be throwing the sticks and get to practicing!”

As Steve and Bucky stepped back, to allow their students to work, Clint came into the room. He had a blooming smile on, and as he approached the two, he gestured to the students and gave a nod. He certainly approved of their syllabus. Things were changing fast and so did their teachings.

“So, the press officially think the universe has lost its mind, but, on the plus side they seem to have no idea that you two were brainwashed HYDRA assassins or that you’re in a relationship.” His smile brightened. “That’s a win in my book.”

Bucky nodded, keeping his eye on the students. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about people recognising us and thinking they’ve gone crazy overnight.”

“Stops the theories too,” Steve said. “Hey, Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“You and Coulson should stop sneaking around.”

“Aw, man, how did you know?”

Steve smirked, looking to Clint with mirth in his eyes. “You and Coulson never fall out. And there’s CCTV outside your house.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “You can _hack_?!”

Bucky laughed. “That’s what you’re taking away from this?”

“Yes… But also, yeah, we’ve talked about it but… I don’t know. Fury set up this cover for me once, and I fell in love but…” Clint shrugged. “It didn’t work out because SHIELD was always on my back and Phil was there and it became a thing and all of a sudden, it’s about to be four years since we got together. And you’re supposed to report a relationship, but it was so delicate… we didn’t want to risk it at the time. The lies have stacked up over the years.”

“Buddy,” Bucky said, placing his hand on Clint’s shoulder, “do what you like. Just invite us to the wedding, yeah?”

Clint shoved Bucky’s hand off, chuckling away. “Sure. I’ll do that as soon as Phil’s recovered, and I find a ring.” He smiled, his laughs dying away. “I really love him.”

Steve beamed. “We’re happy for you, man.”

“Thanks guys.” He glanced over his shoulder, his smile transformed into a smirk. “Nat has a small crush on Skye, you know? I’m not sure how they know each other, but I’ve never heard Nat talk about someone so much.”

“Ooo, she hasn’t told us that yet.” Bucky folded his arms, glancing to Skye, who dodged a stick by sliding. “We better tease her on that one.”

Steve chuckled. “She’s gonna kill us. It’ll be worth it.”

Clint nodded along and the three bantered for a couple minutes before Steve and Bucky got back to teaching. They went around telling their students what they were doing well and what mistakes they were making. They did so until some of the students were ready to collapse. With five minutes still left of their lesson, they let them go early. Steve and Bucky’s class was a fan favourite for that reason, _and_ it was less feared in those days. The case of ’98 was almost forgotten. Though, the ones who had been in that class tended to bring it up at any point in time.

When they got home, late in the day, they decided to go straight to bed. It had been a _long_ day and the morning felt like it was years away instead of hours. They donned their comfy pyjamas and slipped under the covers. Turning on their sides, they faced each other, smiling ever so slightly.

“I love you,” Steve said, sinking nicely into his pillow.

“Love you too, you punk. Can’t believe we blew our covers today.”

“Bound to happen eventually.”

Bucky smiled and touched Steve’s cheek. “To think of all that happened to us and it all turned out okay in the end.”

Steve placed his hand over Bucky’s. “It’s not the end yet. But it’s a pretty good middle. A brilliant one.”

“I’m glad this was our future. Being here in this modern world, not having to hide, teaching the new generation… and still imparting wisdom onto Nat.”

“God, we raised her.”

“I know…”

They smiled at each other before they were pulling one another close, melding together and seeking the upmost comfort. They lay there until they both dozed off, smiles slipping off their faces as they dove into a deep sleep.

Things may have been hard for every type of life they lived, but their life with SHIELD had been better than expected. When they broke away from their programming twenty years back, they couldn’t have hoped for the life they had now. Sure, aliens were very much a thing and the threats to the world were increasing in volume, but overall, Steve and Bucky didn’t have to get involved, they just had to train their students and pick out the bests ones for time to time.

The point was, they had a choice.

And because of their position in SHIELD they had a lot of choice. They didn’t have to worry about money, they didn’t have to worry about orders sending them to places they didn’t want to go. They only had to worry about what they were going to teach on any given day.

With Nat all grown up, doing her own thing, and their past students thriving, they knew being trainers and/or teachers was the route meant for them.

In the end, they survived their endless war with choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr!!](http://kateis-cakeis.tumblr.com/)


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